Going Back
by OpheliaKitt
Summary: Going back was always hardest when you feared what you might find there. The musketeers jumped as the unmistakable sound of a pistol reached their ears as though it had been fired from some distance. They dashed from the cellar knowing immediately that the sound had come from where their brothers had been three floors above them...
1. Chapter 1

Going Back

Chapter 1

It had been years since he'd been back, and then all of a sudden, Athos found himself for the third time in too short of a span of time riding through the village of Pinon. Some of the villagers still bowed to him, which caused the back of his neck to burn with irritation. He rolled his shoulders, hoping to force some relief into those muscles. It was the strain of duty that wore so heavily on him still, despite having relinquished his title and land to the people of the town.

His brothers rode with him. He knew they would follow him to the ends of the earth if he'd ask them. Something burned in his chest at the thought, but unlike the painful irritation caused by the eyes of the people – his people – the fire burning in his breast was one of comfort. It was the knowledge of the love he carried for the men at his side and the love that they, miraculously, held for him.

As though reading his thoughts, Aramis pulled his mare forward so he was riding alongside Athos. The men stared straight ahead, but Aramis dropped his head slightly as though attempting to shield his words with the brim of his hat.

"Did you want to return to the house before we check in at the inn?" he asked quietly.

Athos glanced at the marksman and raised an eyebrow. How was it that this man could read his thoughts before he'd even registered them? Though very different men, many long years of living, fighting, laughing and bleeding together had fused Porthos, Athos and Aramis together as though they were almost one being. With the addition of D'Artagnan, it was as if the four pieces were finally whole. In battle they could move as one, knowing instinctively where the others might be. When one was injured, they all felt the pain, so perhaps Athos shouldn't have been surprised that Aramis was attuned to his consternation. Aramis bore a heart so large and caring that it practically surrounded him like an aura. How many times had his dark, emotion-filled eyes been able to coax a confession out of Athos, showing far more compassion and understanding than any priest ever could.

"We are with you for whatever you need," Aramis said, still not making eye contact, knowing how Athos would react if he felt that this was coddling. The corner of the swordsman's mouth quirked in a half smile.

"Thank you, brother," he said. "I think it best if we head to the inn first and allow the horses to rest. It's been a long day, and I'm sure I'll need a drink before I bring myself back there…or several."

Aramis gave a small laugh. "Very well," he said, "Then consider the first round on me," he said with a grin.

They rode on through the village and stopped at the large inn at the centre of town. The innkeeper smiled warmly at the musketeers as he led them to a room with four beds. He was surprised to see them in Pinon again so soon.

"We're here on official business," Athos said. "Have you heard news about the attacks on the road north of here?"

The innkeeper shook his head, his eyes growing wide. "No, nothing. As you know, we don't get many travellers through here, but one would think that if word has reached Paris, it would have reached here first," he said confusedly.

Athos sighed. "Regardless, Pinon and the area around it have come to the attention of the King. He has concerns about the security on his roads."

"Apparently, a number of the nobility's coaches have been attacked lately," said Porthos. "You sure you ain't heard anything?"

"I swear monsieur, if there has been anything like that transpiring, we know nothing about it," said the innkeeper fervently.

"And you can vouch for all the villagers?" D'Artagnan asked, eyebrow raised.

The innkeeper bit his lip and shook his head. "No," he said. "I cannot swear that the entire town could be innocent, but I have no knowledge that will allow me to lay an accusation against anyone."

Athos nodded. "We would appreciate it if you kept this information to yourself as we conduct our investigation. It's likely that we will need to speak to some individuals within the community and would like to do so without raising suspicions."

"If you can think of anyone who may be of interest to us…" Aramis said with a small smile.

"I'll find you," said the innkeeper, returning Aramis' smile, despite the stress that was now written across his face, as he backed out of the room.

D'Artagnan closed the door and turned to the others. "Do you think he knows anything?" he asked earnestly.

Aramis frowned. "I think he was genuinely shocked to see us and hear of the news."

"Or was it he's afraid because we're investigatin'?" Porthos asked.

Aramis shook his head. "I can't imagine the man being involved. He is the mayor after all…though that doesn't mean he's not protecting someone," Aramis allowed. "Didn't he have a daughter? Quite pretty if I remember correctly."

"You would remember a pretty woman," Porthos said with a grin at his brother who gave a roguish wink back.

"Athos?" D'Artagnan asked.

Athos had been silent as his brothers discussed the innkeeper. "In this instance, rare though it is, my inclination is to agree with Aramis," he said to which Porthos grinned and Aramis' eyes flashed as his face took on the expression of mock affront, his hand placed over his heart. Athos' lip quirked at the expected dramatics. "I can't imagine him being involved, though the fact that he had no notion of these events is concerning. Pinon is small, but if these attacks have been occurring repeatedly on the roads nearby, it's strange that no one sought assistance from the village."

Porthos glanced out the window. Evening had fallen and a loud grumble from his stomach indicated that the dinner-hour was approaching. "Well, we won't see nothing if we head out now. I say we head downstairs and assess the locals at the inn."

"And the dinner fare, I'm assuming," said Aramis with a grin.

A grumble from D'Artagnan' s stomach indicated that he agreed with Porthos' assessment.

"Agreed," said Athos. "I believe you offered to get the first round," he said to Aramis.

"Judas!" said Aramis. "Very well, mes amis, the first round is mine," he said as he opened the door and led the way back downstairs to the inn's main room.

oOo


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Thanks for the great support already! You guys are the best.**_

 _ **I try to post something every few days so as not to keep you waiting too long. Not too sure where this story is going exactly, so I welcome any suggestions or feedback! :)**_

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Going Back

Chapter 2

After an evening of drinks, cards and carousing with the locals at the inn, the musketeers set out in the morning more confused than when they arrived. It was as if the town of Pinon had been almost sheltered from these attacks. None of the villagers seemed to know anything about them. The omission in itself was enough to raise the musketeers' suspicions.

They saddled their horses and road through the village.

"What are we investigatin' exactly?" Porthos grumbled. "Nothing was stolen, no one was hurt…"

"Yes, but apparently some of the King's courtiers had their belongings soiled," said Aramis with a grin.

"Frankly, it seems like the acts of some children if you ask me," Porthos replied grumpily.

Athos sighed. Their annoyance was not wrong, but if these attacks turned the eye of Louis to Pinon, Athos felt frustratingly obliged to be the one to investigate.

"There are only two roads that near the village, the main road from Paris by which we arrived, and a second road that skirts the estate. The Noble Road it was called. It afforded a smoother surface and more scenic terrain for the wealthy to travel through, making it sparsely traversed as well. Merchants were always more likely to take the more direct main road. It's strange that there's such a sudden insurgence of crime," said Athos as the burnt remains of his home began to appear in the distance. He tensed slightly at the sight.

"Did you want to check out the house first?" D'Artagnan asked Athos warily.

"It's a bit of a menacing sight – no offence," said Porthos.

"It's an eyesore," said Athos, almost gladly.

"It also stands as a massive marker indicating that there is no technical magistrate present. That could be one reason for the increase of crime in the area," said Aramis thoughtfully.

Athos frowned at this suggestion. At the time, entrusting the lands to the people made the most sense to Athos. He hadn't considered what the erasure of the role of the Comte would mean to the outside world.

"What's troublin' you?" Porthos asked as Athos hesitated.

"Other than the second instance of Aramis' profound wisdom and perception in two days? I believe it's my unwillingness to face all the baggage that still remains with me from my former life," Athos responded with a sigh.

"I know," said Porthos, "I'm worried too," he said, which caused Athos to look in his direction.

"When Aramis is right this often, it usually means there's trouble brewin'" he said with a grin.

"I am right here, you know," snapped the marksman, with mild annoyance that couldn't quite smother the humour in his eyes. "And might I remind you that I have been a soldier longer than either of you. Perhaps strategy just comes more naturally to me."

"We have no question about your abilities, brother," Athos said. "Let's just say your actions, though valiant and heroic are sometimes…"

"Reckless?" suggested D'Artagnan.

"Insane," remarked Porthos.

Aramis gasped at these assertions. "I'll have you know that all my actions are calculated and any recklessness is completely necessary. I believe that "recklessness" has also been responsible for saving all of your lives on many occasions," he said with a pout as he glared at his brothers.

Athos reached out a hand and grabbed the marksman's forearm.

"Of course Aramis," he said seriously, his blue eyes boring into the hurt brown eyes of his brother. "Your bravery is second to none. We know that you would risk your life for us, which is what makes us value you all the more and makes your counsel invaluable," he said, "However, I think even you can admit that you have a penchant for getting into troublesome situations…" His blue eyes sparkled as Aramis' softened, the compassion, mischief and humour assuming their normal dominant seat in the man's eyes.

Athos smiled at the man before he released his arm and sighed slightly as his eyes took in the familiar landscape of his childhood.

"We will need to examine the house at some point, but we should try to salvage something from the crime scene first if possible."

The others nodded and followed Athos as he veered away from the house to where the road through town would meet up with the Noble Road.

oOo

The area around the scenic route was rough and unkempt as the three prevailing noble families in the area had all come to rather uncelebrated ends – the de la Fere estate to fire, the Barony to greed and dishonour and the other to bankruptcy.

They approached a bend in the road that was guarded by a forested incline on one side and the rock face of a hillside on the other.

"Good place for an ambush," Porthos as they dismounted.

Cautiously Aramis and D'Artagnan began to climb the hill as Porthos and Athos examined the road.

"Look at this," Porthos said, stooping to pull some branches away from the road. The branches were covering a large rut. "A horse stumbling or a wheel breaking in this could be a disaster," he said.

Athos looked at the rock face on his right. "This makes a natural barrier boxing in the carriage. It's unlikely bandits would need to attack from this side, though I suppose an attack from above is possible with a few men. This wall and the trees on the other side would prevent any kind of escape or counter attack," he said. Porthos grunted his agreement. Aramis and D'Artagnan came skidding down the hill towards them. D'Artagnan held a cloak in his hands.

"The sight-lines up there are exceptional. You can see a carriage coming for miles. These woods stop shortly with a full view of the road," he said.

"We found a bit of a dug out where they could wait to attack from as well," said D'Artagnan gesturing to the cloak.

"How many men could shelter there?" Athos asked.

D'Artagnan and Aramis shared a quick glance.

"No more than a pair," Aramis said. "They must have shelter somewhere nearby."

"Good sight lines, natural barrier on one side, convenient tree cover? And on something called the Noble Road? I can't imagine a better place to target the rich," Porthos grumbled.

"The question that remains though is why? Once attacked, how was it that the victims were able to recover without notifying the people of the town? Pinon is barely thirty minutes' ride, while Paris is still several hours away," said D'Artagnan, frustrated.

"I'm not sure," said Athos, "But if what you say is correct, whoever is doing this will need to have a stronghold somewhere nearby, and it seems the house is the most likely location for that."

"Athos," said Aramis "There's nothing to indicate that that is the case. Porthos and I can assess the situation there and report back. You need not subject yourself to being in that house again," he said, wide eyes full of concern. Athos looked at the brother who was once again trying to protect him.

"I thank you for your attempt to spare me the pain of returning to that place, but I promise you Aramis, I will be fine," he said tersely but not unkindly as he remounted his horse. "Alright, let's get this over with," he said as he made his way back down the road towards the once great manor home.

oOo


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Something to kick off the weekend...cheers!**

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Going Back

Chapter 3

As the road circled back towards the town, the de la Fere home rose like a majestic beast in front of them. From this angle, the damage from the fire wasn't discernible at first.

"It's difficult to imagine growing up in a place like this," D'Artagnan muttered.

"It was lonely. And cold," said Athos without turning his head. D'Artagnan gulped and blushed. He had not realized he had spoken out loud.

"There must have been some good though," Aramis suggested.

Athos paused for a moment. "There were a few moments of sunlight in my childhood, but most of my memories of this place were dark or fleeting. I didn't grow here so much as I was bred here, forced into a role I detested and made to feel lesser-than by a stern and detached father and mother who insisted I be isolated from others my age. I was lesser than they wanted, but they forbid their son to socialize with the common born – the truly lesser. Then, with everything that happened with Thomas and Anne…" he said bitterly, "I can't imagine how many more ways I can let this place go, but somehow it keeps managing to sink a claw into me and pull me back."

"Know what you mean," said Porthos glumly. Porthos' own upbringing was a sensitive subject for him. Growing up and surviving in the Court of Miracles was a topic of great pride and great shame for the thief turned musketeer. Porthos clawed himself out of a life of crime and desolation to become a member of the King's elite guard. Despite all that, Athos knew that part of Porthos would always belong to the Court. He would defend its occupants and the streets that he once called home.

"You're in good company," said Aramis, his own unconventional childhood flashing through his mind. His eyes glowed slightly as he recalled memories of his mother. She was beautiful. She was a courtesan and raised Aramis in the brothel where he was doted on by the other courtesans and the men looking to win his mother's favour for the night. This basking in his mother's love was short-lived as he was torn from her side at the age of ten. She died soon after. He was brought up on the lands of his malicious and cruel father and his family until he fled at sixteen, disowning his father's name and whatever lands or property he would one day be entitled to, and enlisted in the army.

D'Artagnan said nothing as these men talked. He had nothing to share in this instance. He was lucky, he knew, to have been raised by a mother and father who had loved him. His mother had died when he was a child, and though he still struggled with the loss of his father, D'Artagnan could now look back on that time without bitterness. Losing his father was the worst moment of his life, but it had led him to his best. It had led him to these men, to his calling, to the Musketeers.

oOo

The once great home was still imposing. Much like Athos himself, it had been beaten and burned and suffered, yet still somehow stood tall and proud despite the ravages of its past.

The entire east wing of the home had been completely destroyed by the fire – blackened beams and the ashes of ruined furniture were all that remained along with the acrid smell of smoke, which would never be removed from the place. The west wing, however, remained partly intact, despite the signs of smoke damage and scorching from the fire in the antechamber immediately off the main foyer and extending slightly into the rooms beyond.

"Perhaps we should split up in our search?" Aramis suggested as they stepped over the charred remains of a tapestry.

Athos nodded. "The main staircase has been destroyed, but the servants' staircase may still be intact. You and D'Artagnan should search the upstairs for signs of vagrants. Porthos and I will head down to the dry cellar to see if anything remains in the armoury."

The men split up, and Aramis and D'Artagnan made their way towards the back servants' quarters.

oOo

"Do you think he's alright?" D'Artagnan asked quietly as they climbed the stairs.

Aramis cast an appraising eye onto the young man at his side. "It's hard to say," he said honestly. "You know as well as I do that Athos tends to take the guilt and hardships of others onto himself. His sense of misplaced guilt is a quality that sometimes he and I share," he said with a small sad smile. "Despite all the hardships he has suffered on these lands, they are his lands, and despite his many attempts to sever that connection, Athos' pride is in some way still tied to them. I have no doubt knowing that danger now swells on their roads, possibly encouraged by the lack of his presence here, is weighing heavily on him."

The two men stepped onto the second floor landing and their conversation died down. Three doors lined the long hallway and another stood slightly ajar at the far end of the hall.

Exchanging a glance, Aramis and D'Artagnan moved towards the first door. Aramis slowly turned the handle and pushed the door open onto a large bedroom. A thick layer of dust lay on the floor. Black ash was visible where smoke had entered from beneath the door. The bed was stripped and the few items of furniture in the room were covered in white sheets. Cobwebs coated the chandelier that hung from the ceiling. A discarded book lay open on the floor. Nothing in the room had been disturbed in ages. They closed the door quietly and backed out of the room.

The next room they opened was much the same: a large parlour with a series of couches and tables stood like ghosts covered in white material in the heavily cobwebbed space. It was when the musketeers opened the third room, slowly pushing the door open, that their jaws tightened and their eyes narrowed.

The bedroom had been ransacked. Splintered wood lay on the ground with large gouge marks made in the wallpaper as though someone had attacked the very foundations of the room with a blade. Feathers littered the floor from torn pillows. A large oil painting was also the victim of an angry blade. Aramis bent to examine the blood that lay on top of the feathers by the bed. D'Artagnan examined the painting.

"There's blood here," Aramis said, "But it's hard to tell what the source may have been. It's possible that there was a struggle. Whether it was between two or more people is hard to determine. The footprints are confused. It's entirely possible that whoever did this did so in a drunken fervour and could have injured themselves in the process," Aramis said delicately.

"You think it was Athos?" D'Artagnan said perceptively.

Aramis sighed. "It's possible. When you found him here the night of the fire you said he was drunk – barely coherent. You did not yet know Athos as I have known him, but back then, as he still wallowed in his grief on his own despite mine and Porthos' best efforts, it was common for Athos to drink himself into a sometimes violent state of oblivion only to wake the next morning with only vague recollections of what had happened. It was after the third time that I woke him to find him bleeding or bruised that I set myself as his guardian to at least ensure he made it to his own apartments hazard-free when this darkness took him."

Aramis frowned, recalling the pain of his brother and the efforts it had taken him to burrow through the protective walls that had lined Athos' heart. There was not a day that Aramis was not thankful for the effort that was put into tearing aside those barricades. Once admitted entrance into Athos' heart, it was a place one never wanted to leave.

"What have you discovered about that painting?" Aramis asked, forcing his mind to stay focused on the investigation at hand.

"I'm not sure," said D'Artagnan shaking his head. "It looks to be of a landscape, but not one I recognize. There's a chateau or something that was painted here, again though, it's not a place I know."

Aramis strode over to the painting to examine it himself. He frowned again. "I don't recognize this place either, however it seems as though whomever ransacked this room knew it well. We should have Athos come inspect the room. He at least should know what this painting represents."

"Does it look to you as if the room was searched for something?" D'Artagnan asked, glancing once more around the room at its overturned and uprooted contents.

Aramis nodded. "It does. However, we are not the correct people to determine if something might be missing. The most we can say is that this room at least shows signs of disturbance in contrast to the others. Come," he said patting D'Artagnan on the arm, "Let's search the last room and report back."

D'Artagnan nodded and led the way into the last room.

They entered a library. Many books had been pulled from the shelves and seemingly cast aside at random and in frustration. A number of bloodied bandages and a few empty bottles of wine littered the floor near a large desk. Aramis approached the large fireplace while D'Artagnan bent over a book that was open on the desk near the bloodied bandages.

"The hearth is still warm," Aramis muttered.

"Pages are missing from this book," replied D'Artagnan.

"Which book?" Aramis asked from where he crouched by the hearth.

"It looks like the family bible and records," D'Artagnan said. "The beginning seems to be the bible while the back half of the book appears to be a record of the lands, properties, the taxes, births, marriages, deaths…It's the entire history of the de la Fere estate," D'Artagnan said.

The ominous sound of a pistol clicking had both men still.

"Get your hands in the air," said a voice.

Slowly Aramis rose, his hands at chest-height in supplication; D'Artagnan turned slowly to face the person wielding the pistol.

oOo

Porthos looked at Athos as he roughly shoved another door open.

"If we was looking to surprise 'em, I think that we lost that element," he said with a raised eyebrow.

Athos stilled in his assessment of the salon. "I'm sorry," he said, as he recognized his emotional responses to being in that house again. "I fear I'm not myself when I'm here."

Porthos shook his head. "If anythin', I'd say you might be more yourself. Ya like to pretend like nothin' gets to you, but Aramis and I, and now D'Artagnan – we know how big your heart is. You can't keep your walls up here," said Porthos.

"You're right," said Athos, a sad frown on his lips. "It's like I'm a child here all over again. I feel very vulnerable," he said.

"You ain't gotta worry, 'Thos. D'Artagnan, 'Mis and I are your walls. We won't let nothin' hurt you," he said, grounding the swordsman with a big hand on his shoulder.

Athos leeched strength from that steady contact, and offered his brother a small smile.

"The dry cellar is through the kitchen," he said, leading the way. "We took most of the weaponry from the place to help the people defend their lands, but there were still several serviceable but older items that we kept back. Several rapiers and armour as well," he said.

Athos pushed aside the door and they entered the private armoury. Several of the gun cases and sword displays had been emptied. Athos looked unsurprised as he marched past them. He didn't look at the tomb that they passed either.

He came to a halt suddenly once they had passed a few more cases that still had rapiers hanging in them before turning down an aisle. Porthos followed behind as Athos came to a rest in front of another empty case. His brow was furrowed as he stared at the display. Porthos glanced at the cases on either side that still housed several very fine pistols and daggers.

"Somethin' the matter?" he asked. Athos cocked his head slightly.

"The weapons in this display are missing," he said. Porthos just raised an eyebrow.

"This particular set belonged to my grandfather. They were fine weapons," he said.

Porthos looked thoughtfully again at the displays that remained full on either side of the case. "I wonder why these weapons were selected," he said. "It's like whoever took them was searchin' for these ones in particular. Passed a heck of a lotta other goods before getting to these. Clearly he isn't sellin' 'em or usin' 'em as part of his assault on the nobility."

"Why indeed," said Athos.

The men jumped as the unmistakable sound of a pistol reached their ears as though it had been fired from some distance. They dashed from the cellar knowing immediately that the sound had come from where their brothers had been three floors above them.

oOo


	4. Chapter 4

Going Back

Chapter 4

The man wore a mask as he levelled an ornate pistol at the musketeers. A dark hood covered his head.

"We are the King's Musketeers," Aramis said, "Lower your weapon and identify yourself."

The man laughed. "I don't think so, Musketeer. I know how the King's justice works. Rarely does he side with those who have nothing. Funny thing," he said, cocking and raising a second pistol so he had one trained on each man, "Those who have nothing typically have nothing to lose."

"Except your life," said D'Artagnan.

"Careful now lad, You mustn't be too hasty and say something you might regret...God knows I've waited long enough. I'll not let you ruin everything now," said the man.

"Waited for what?" Aramis asked. "What are you searching for? Perhaps we can be of some assistance."

The man laughed again. "I'm searching for what was taken from me! For what I'm owed!"

"Is that why you've been targeting those passing on the Noble Road? Do they owe you something?" Aramis asked again.

The man paused. "You're a clever one," he said. "Pity," he said as he fired the pistol at the medic.

"No!" shouted D'Artagnan, turning his head to see his brother fall by the hearth.

The man was fast and well muscled, and seeing D'Artagnan's head turn in that instant, he delivered a hard kick into the man's hip throwing him backwards and hard into the heavy oak desk in a heap. In the few moments that the pain in his side blackened out D'Artagnan's vision, the man had fled.

D'Aratgnan struggled to his feet and leapt across the desk to reach Aramis who was opposite him by the hearth.

"Aramis! Are you alright? Where are you hit?" he asked urgently.

"Shoulder," Aramis grunted. "Got lucky. Passed through. Nothing broken," he said as he made to right himself as Porthos and Athos threw themselves into the room.

"Are you alright?!" cried Porthos seeing Aramis paling, blood seeping through the front of his shirt from where it poured from his shoulder.

"'m fine," he grunted.

D'Artagnan huffed as he began to help Aramis out of his doublet. "I'll never understand how being shot is "fine" by your assessment."

"What happened?" Athos asked calmly.

"We were searching the rooms on this level," Aramis said as D'Artagnan began to tear strips from his shirt to use to stem the bleeding. "First two hadn't been disturbed. The third had been ransacked as though someone were looking for something. There's blood on the floor in there," he grunted. Athos tensed at these words which Aramis took note of. "We came in here to continue our investigation."

"The hearth was warm and some pages had been torn from your family's bible. Then a masked man appeared. He must have been hiding in one of the stacks. We had only been in here for a few moments when he sprung," said D'Artagnan.

"He said he was looking for something. That he was owed something. He seemed to confess to attacking the nobles, or at least inferred that's why he was doing it," Aramis panted as he gestured that he be helped from the floor.

"That's when he shot you," said Porthos angrily.

"Trust me, mon ami, that was not my intention. Nothing reckless was undertaken," he said with a grimace as Porthos helped him take a seat upon the desk. D'Artagnan began unpacking their medical supplies.

"Where is the shooter now?" Athos asked angrily.

D'Artagnan gulped. "He fled. He attacked me and fled before I could recover."

"And you didn't give chase?" Athos said, nearly shouting.

"I – I had to check on Aramis," D'Artagnan said, hurt and shocked at Athos' reaction.

"Damn!" said Athos, turning away.

"There was nothing he could do, Athos! The man fled!" said Aramis angrily, his eyes flashing out at one brother as he saw the spirits drop in the other one who was cleaning the bullet wound to his shoulder. "Did you not see the villain as you ran up here to check on us? If anything, take your anger out on me. It was my being used for target practice that distracted D'Artagnan. But if you didn't come across him, there would have been no way D'Artagnan could have chased him down!" he said, his temper flaring as the pain increased when the wound was doused in clear alcohol to prevent infection.

"Hey!" shouted Porthos as he stood between his two brothers. "Let's calm down for just a second!" he said. Athos turned to face them. His eyes widened as he saw Aramis sitting on the desk, his right arm pressing the wound on his left side, the knuckles of his left hand were white as he gripped the edge of the desk, grimacing in pain as D'Artagnan carefully sewed the exit wound shut first. Aramis always refused to cry out.

"I'm sorry," Athos said, recovering his senses. "Of course you made the right decision," he said to D'Artagnan, catching his eye for a moment as he continued to sew. He stepped forward and replaced Aramis' hand with his own to help stem the blood flow. Aramis raised his eyes to meet the swordsman, his touch and the gleam in his eyes reflecting his apology and regret.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I somehow didn't quite register that you had actually been shot. I was distracted more by the fact that an unknown man had attacked you in _this house_. I feel as though this house is trying to curse me still by injuring all those I care for."

"That's okay, mon ami, I understand. And forgive me for lashing out at you. I'm in a bit of a taxing situation," he said as D'Artagnan tied off the exit wound.

"Your reaction was completely within reason," he said with a smirk as he moved out of D'Artagnan's way so he could begin to stitch the entry wound.

"Are you sure yer alright?" Porthos asked as he looked concernedly at his closest friend.

Aramis smiled through his pain, "Relatively speaking this is a minor injury, and I have taught D'Artagnan well so his ministrations have been exemplary," he said catching the Gascon's eyes. Aramis turned to face Athos. "I will need a few moments to recover when D'Artagnan is finished. The room next door," he said, "Whose was it?"

"My brother Thomas'" Athos replied, and Aramis frowned.

"The room has been ransacked. It looks as though someone may have been looking for something and may have reacted violently when they couldn't find it. As I said, there is dried blood on the feathers near the bed, but I can't determine where the blood came from - if there was a single person or if it was perhaps a violent altercation." Athos nodded.

"There was a painting that took quite a bit of damage. That might be something. Perhaps if you examine that room you might be able to determine if anything is missing," D'Artagnan said.

"I'll search in here," said Porthos. "Looks like he coulda been campin' somewhere in the stacks." Athos nodded again and exited the library. The three remaining exchanged a glance.

D'Artagnan sighed as he placed one of his last stitches. "I'll check on him as soon as I'm done here. Once I'm certain you aren't about to keel over."

"D'Artagnan, I'm f– "

"If you say you're fine, I'm going to let Porthos punch you," he said. Aramis grinned as though accepting that challenge but said nothing.

oOo

* * *

 _ **A/N: Thanks for your great reviews/PMs! A lot of interesting ideas. Some of you are on a similar wavelength to me in terms of where this story might take us. Stay tuned for more soon!**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: Thanks for all the awesome feedback so far! I love reading your reactions to what's happening. Here's the next chapter - a little angst and some answers to help our boys along :-)**_

* * *

Going Back

Chapter 5

As Porthos moved to begin searching the aisles of the library, D'Artagnan gravely finished dressing Aramis' shoulder.

"Don't take it personally," the marksman whispered catching his young friend's eye. "This place – it has him on edge. He didn't mean anything by it. You did the right thing and I, for one, appreciate your decision," he said, hoping to make the younger man smile.

D'Artagnan only sighed and shook his head. "I know," he said. "I wish there was some way we could help rid him of the pain of this place. There are so many terrible memories here for him."

"That's true," said Aramis thoughtfully, "And I'm afraid this new mission will only add to those morose feelings towards his home. At the same time though, this place made Athos what he is; there is pain because there is love. It is his choice to remember only the negative; there is always a silver lining, mon ami. You need only let the light shine through," the medic said with a smile.

D'Artagnan sighed again, but rewarded Aramis with a small smile of understanding. "How are you feeling?" he asked his brother seriously.

Aramis stretched gingerly, a soft groan escaping his lips. "All things considered, I'm well. I know you are quite bruised too – I heard the way you impacted the desk, and I insist I look at your side once we return to the inn. I believe I have a salve to help with any bruising back in our rooms," he said to which the Gascon blushed, but made no comment. "I'll be fine here for a few minutes and Porthos should be done his search soon. Go check on Athos so we can regroup and plan our next steps. I would not leave him alone in Thomas' room for too long…"

D'Artagnan smiled warmly at Aramis, his brown eyes showing his affection for the man. He squeezed his uninjured shoulder slightly before heading into the room next door to find Athos.

oOo

D'Artagnan slowly re-entered the ransacked room – he didn't want to disturb Athos, but he agreed with Aramis' intuition: leaving Athos on his own for too long with his thoughts in this place could lead to disaster. Sure enough, D'Artagnan found Athos sitting on the bed, staring at the old blood that marred the bed sheets and the feathers on the floor.

"Athos…" he said tentatively. The man didn't respond. It took two more attempts before Athos made any acknowledgement of the Gascon's presence.

He shook his head, "Sorry D'Artagnan, did you say something?"

D'Artagnan raised his eyebrows slightly, but tried to keep his worry in check. "I was just asking if you were able to make heads or tails of what happened here. Aramis said there could have been a struggle..."

Athos nodded slowly. "I think that's a possibility. Whatever happened was done in anger. I've not been able to determine what they were looking for. My grandfather's pistols and dagger from the cellar are also missing. It's possible that the intruder was searching for these here prior to finding the vault."

D'Artagnan nodded. "The painting. Does that have any significance to you?"

Athos' brow furrowed. "My grandfather had a hunting lodge that Thomas and I would escape to. It was a beautiful setting, and allowed us a little freedom from our father's crippling rule. It was Thomas' favourite place."

"Is it far?" D'Artagnan asked.

Athos shook his head. "About an hours' ride. I'm not sure why it would provoke such anger or what my grandfather would have to do with these attacks on the nobility…" his voice trailed off. "Come," he said, "Let's re-join Aramis and Porthos. It's impossible to assemble this puzzle with so few pieces," he said, striding abruptly from the room.

oOo

Athos and D'Artagnan returned to the library. Aramis had been examining the family bible. When Athos entered, he turned the book to face him.

"These pages have been torn from the book," he said, indicating the absent leaves. "They are the pages of the three generations prior to you – dating back to the birth and marriage of your great grandfather," Aramis said.

"Felix was eldest of four. His brother died as a child, and his sisters married other noble sons of the area. My grandfather was the sole heir; my father as well," Athos said.

Porthos grunted. "It seems the shooter has been squattin' here for a while. Made himself a bit of a nest – though why he'd sleep on the floor in here and not bring any of that bedding with him is a mystery to me," he grumbled. "I found this with his things – a letter, though I'm not sure what to make of it." He handed the worn and crumpled note to Athos who read it out loud.

"Felix – I have received your notice, and while I acknowledge the timeline laid out in your letter, I cannot confirm the charges you have laid against my father, nor can I acknowledge your claim to the estate. It has been several years since the passing of my father, and there is no proof to verify your claims. I suggest you desist in contacting me immediately. Following my death, the estate shall pass to my first-born, Olivier, and his brother Thomas, who will continue to see the de la Fere name grow in wealth and honour as is their duty. Sincerely, Guillaume d'Athos, Comte de la Fere"

The men were silent for a few minutes as the words sank in.

Finally Porthos broke the silence. "It seems as though you may have an uncle or somethin'. Sounds like he's looking to claim part of the estate. 'Guess dissolving the estate kinda threw a wrench in those plans…"

Athos nodded grimly. "I've never heard of this Felix before…it's possible that my Grandfather could have an illegitimate son somewhere. If so, my family would have done everything in its power to stifle the knowledge of this. It would have been a huge dishonour to my family's legacy," he said.

"It's not uncommon for a noble family to try to tamper the existence of any bastards," said Aramis a little bitterly as memories from his upbringing flashed in his mind. Athos caught his eye, blue eyes full of apology, instantly softening the eyes of the marksman. As reluctant as Aramis was to speak of his mother, he was even more disinclined to discuss the mistreatment he suffered as a child at the hands of his father and his father's family. He would often sidestep or disengage from the conversation, a rare feat in itself for the loquacious medic. His father had been a minor noble without an heir, but Aramis was a bastard as his father, his father's wife, her family and certain members of the staff constantly reminded him. The fact that it was Aramis who gave up any claims to a title he may have had along with his father's name when he left the estate to join the army spoke volumes to the other men. Aramis' soul was full of understanding, compassion and forgiveness so whatever force drove him away must have been insurmountable.

"This still doesn't account for the attacks on the nobility," said D'Artagnan.

"No, it does not," said Aramis, shaking his head to rid it of the negative memories. "The shooter also didn't quite admit to assailing the nobles. It could still be two different cases we're looking at."

They all looked to Athos who nodded slowly. "We will need more information still. I suggest we return to the inn for the evening. The attacks on the Noble Road have happened sporadically, so there's no point in lying in wait. We can ask the townsfolk more about the habits of the nobility in the area. If all else fails, we can ride out for the hunting lodge and see if it's met a similar fate to the rest of this blasted family," he said with a sigh. Aramis put his uninjured arm around his brother and with a squeeze to his shoulder, he guided him out of the room. For once, Athos did not flinch at the contact and allowed himself to be led outside and back to their horses.

Porthos and D'Aratagnan followed after one last turn about the room. It was D'Artagnan who discovered a large bronze key hidden in some rubbish by the vagrant's things. He tucked it away in his jacket before following Porthos outside.

They found Aramis and Athos a little away from the horses, deep in conversation as they leaned against a fence facing the road. Porthos and D'Artagnan stood at a distance, both sets of brown eyes fixed on their two brothers conversing for a moment – Aramis' hand still resting on Athos' shoulder, Athos leaning into the touch subconsciously as he unburdened himself to his sensitive and caring brother. They knew that Aramis was one of the only people that Athos would confide in, knowing that Aramis would take whatever was divulged to his grave before betraying his trust. Porthos and D'Artagnan also knew that in time, Athos would share the same information with them, so they did not begrudge the relationship the pair had. It was Aramis, after all, who first managed to forge that crack within Athos' walls; it was his insistence that eventually opened Athos up to the idea of having friends, and eventually brothers, within the musketeers.

Aramis muttered something to the swordsman, which had him drop his head and chuckle slightly. Aramis beamed at him when he returned his gaze and with a shrug, Athos turned back towards the horses looking much calmer, Aramis' hand still on his shoulder.

As they reached the horses, Porthos raised his eyebrow at Aramis who gave the most subtle shake of him head. Porthos nodded in return – an entire conversation in three small gestures. Yes, Athos was ok. No, Aramis couldn't divulge what was bothering him, but yes, Athos would share it soon.

They rode back to the inn, Aramis and D'Artagnan trading places at Athos' side. Aramis knew that D'Artagnan was still sensitive from Athos' reaction earlier, and Porthos would be worrying about the damage done to Aramis' shoulder. He had placed his arm into a sling hoping to offer the joint some relief, but he was grateful to have Porthos at his side as the wound was causing him some discomfort and had drained him of energy. He smiled warmly at his friend and did his best to not grow aggravated at the concerned glances that were continuously fired his way.

oOo

After a quick supper, Aramis excused himself from the table to rest. Though D'Artagnan acted quickly to stifle the bleeding and tend the wound, a bullet wound was a bullet wound and the marksman knew he couldn't overexert himself when they had so much ground to cover in their investigation. Rising from the table, he waved off the concerned looks from Porthos and D'Artagnan.

He downed his glass of wine, and ordered another bottle for the table, winking at Genn, the innkeeper's daughter when she gave him a smile. A sudden flare in his shoulder chased that momentary foolish idea out of his mind as he turned and headed up the stairs to their room.

He removed his doublet, shirt and the bandages to examine D'Artagnan's handiwork in the mirror. He smiled at the neat stitching – D'Artagnan had been focusing intently, which was why the stitches had taken so long, but Aramis was proud of his work nonetheless. He rubbed some of his healing salve onto the still tender flesh and recovered it before placing a second salve next to D'Artagnan's bed. He intended to inspect the lad when he came up to bed, but in case he was too fast asleep, the salve was there to ease what Aramis was sure was intense bruising to the man's side.

oOo

Back down in the inn's main room, the other three musketeers had spread about the room to mingle with the townsfolk. Returning to the table where Athos remained with his glass of wine, Porthos pulled the bottle away from him and was surprised to see its contents nearly full and the glass untouched.

"The townsfolk say that the nobles tend to return to Paris for the high season in summer and when the King decides to throw a ball. Means it could be any time, but the whole countryside hears when the party's announced. Lotta forewarnin' to plan an ambush," he said, pouring himself a glass of wine.

"A merchant who travels between Pinon and the next town to sell his wares said he thought he had seen a fire burning from the estate, but never went in to investigate," said D'Artagnan joining them.

"Forgive me my lord," said the innkeeper as he approached Athos.

Athos sighed slightly but politely said, "Athos, please," and gestured towards Aramis' vacant seat.

"I've been thinking about what you said, about who may be attacking those coaches," the man said. The three musketeers leaned in. "A few months ago, a strange man had been seen in the village. He seemed harmless, so he didn't stand out right away. He was asking a lot of questions about the family and the house and hunting lodge. He went in search of anyone who had worked on the property. Begging your pardon, but I took him out to see the house – this was after the fire, and I didn't think anything by it. We walked out towards the Noble Road – I had wanted him to get an idea of what the house may have looked like before..." the innkeeper said, a touch of pride and sorrow in his voice. "A coach came rumbling by, a fine one, and the man grew angry suddenly casting a stone at the passing carriage– Coachman was frightened as they passed, and the man just laughed. Not sure what set him off, but it was strange. Left me uneasy. Didn't see him again after that. Didn't think about it really until you arrived here."

"Did this man give you a name or mention where he was from?" Athos asked.

The innkeeper thought for a moment. "He said his name was Felix. He was vague about his home, but it seemed like he grew up near the lodge based on his description of it."

"Thank you for this information," said Athos.

"If you see this man again, let us know immediately," said D'Artagnan. "Do not approach him, but try to remain calm. We believe he is armed and dangerous." The innkeeper's eyes widened, but he nodded, his jaw set as he rose from the table.

"Well it looks like this Felix could be connected to the carriage attacks after all," said Porthos.

Athos nodded. "If he feels slighted and cheated by my family, it's possible that he is taking out his anger on other hapless nobles that pass his way. We will need to head out to the lodge to see how this is connected."

"Is there a reason he would be so intent on going there?" D'Artagnan asked.

Athos sighed once more and took a deep pull from his glass of wine. "There is and there isn't," he said. "As I said earlier, my Grandfather's lodge was a salvation of sorts for me. When I turned over the lands here, the lodge was not included, something I did not notice at the time. When it was brought to my attention, I could not give it up. To me, it felt like the last piece of Thomas I had left," he said. "I explained as much to Aramis this afternoon. I told him of my fears that the home may not even belong to me. If what this man claims is true, that he is in fact the son of my grandfather, then should the land and property not belong to him?"

"Athos, there is no proof of his claims. He's a potential murderer. He shot Aramis and attacked D'Artagnan without provocation and has been attacking the nobility on the road," said Porthos angrily.

"Not only that, but as your father is the true-born heir, and you are his heir, by rights, any court would determine that the land is yours. You should not feel ashamed of keeping something you love. You have sacrificed everything else. You too are entitled to a home and happiness," said D'Artagnan, his eyes shining.

Athos dropped his head, but smiled softly. "That's just what Aramis said."

Porthos smiled. "Don't tell him, but I'm startin' to get used to Aramis being right all the time. When it comes to penance, love, and what's righteous, I'll admit that he's a bit of an authority on that."

Athos smirked. "I'll take that confession to the grave."

D'Artagnan grinned too. "We should head on up and check on him. It's late and it'll be a bit of a ride tomorrow."

"Plus your side is bothering you," Athos said, startling D'Artagnan. "You should have mentioned that you were injured when the man attacked you."

"How did you…" D'Artagnan began.

"I've noticed you wincing slightly as you stand," Athos said as they began to ascend the stairs. "That and Aramis told me to check on you," he said and grinned to himself as he heard D'Artagnan grumbling something about a mother hen behind him.

oOo


	6. Chapter 6

Going Back

Chapter 6

Aramis awoke as the door opened, the dagger he normally kept under his pillow in his hand. He smiled and replaced it as his brothers entered the room. The dagger was a habit Aramis had picked up after Savoy, but it brought him comfort when he wasn't in the arms of a beautiful woman, and had actually saved them on more than one occasion when they had been caught unawares at night. He listened intently as they told him what they had learned downstairs. He nodded wordlessly and moved to D'Artagnan's side. The Gascon sighed as he lifted his shirt and ignored the hiss from Aramis as the dark bruising on his ribs was revealed. Porthos and Athos grew silent as Aramis examined D'Artagnan's ribs.

"You're lucky that these aren't broken," said Aramis sternly. "Why didn't you say you were injured? And don't try to deny the pain you've been in – it's quite literally written across your body," he scolded.

"I'm fine, Aramis," D'Artagnan muttered.

"Perhaps we should examine your own definition of the word fine when we get back to Paris," Aramis said, a daring gleam in his eye that was met by the stubborn Gascon.

"Well ain't that just the pot calling the kettle black," said Porthos as he and Athos grinned at their brothers.

D'Artagnan pouted but Aramis grinned, and pulled his salve and some bandages onto the bed as he began to administer to D'Artagnan's ribs. D'Artagnan sat patiently, and smiled warmly at Aramis when he finished, his relief obvious. "Thank you," he muttered softly for only the marksman to hear. Aramis winked at his younger brother, and said nothing. Nothing else was needed.

oOo

They rose early and ate a quick meal of fresh bread, fruit and cheese, and gratefully took the rations provided for them by the innkeeper.

They rode at a steady but leisurely pace, intent to reach the lodge before the morning was out, but unwilling to tax their horses or their injured brothers. They also weren't sure what state the lodge might be in or whether they should expect an ambush or not.

They rode through the woods, Athos in the lead. D'Artagnan and Aramis, who had seen the painting, recognized the lodge immediately as it came into view. It emerged in a clearing in a dense woods, which bordered it on all sides. A fair sized lake stood in the middle of the sprawling lawn, a small river feeding it from the woods. The property was still and sheltered, the only noises were the rustle of leaves, a cacophony of birdsong and the shuffle and snort of their horses. Somewhere up ahead, the sound of a fish jumping added to the idyllic scene. The whole place seemed to exude a sense of calm.

"It's beautiful," D'Artagnan whispered as they took in the vista.

The lodge itself was small by opulent standards. The white fronted building seemed to be in excellent condition with all of its windows still intact.

"Who has been maintaining this place?" Aramis asked, looking at the well-manicured lawn and welcoming building.

"My Grandfather had ensured that this place would endure; there is an older groundskeeper and housekeeper and a few staff that maintain the residence. I did not have the heart to take them from their home," Athos said simply.

They led their horses to the stable where they dismounted; an older gentlemen appeared on the front steps as they approached.

"Good morning young master Olivier!" the man called as they neared. "I wish you had sent word; we weren't expecting your company. I'm afraid the missus will be in quite the disarray knowing that you've brought guests," he said with a small grin.

"There is no need for Sophie to worry over us, Maurice" Athos said with a slight smile for the man. "We are actually here on the King's business." The man's eyes widened at these words.

"Perhaps we might discuss this inside," Aramis said politely.

Athos nodded. "Yes, we'll go to the south parlour. You will join us Maurice," he said and with another nod at Maurice, he led the way inside.

oOo

The home was impeccably kept. It was clear that the mister and missus took their jobs very seriously. The front foyer led to the south parlour on the right and another large salon on the left, with what looked to be a trophy room next to it. Another doorway led off to the kitchens and the great dining room. A wide marble staircase centred the room and led upstairs to where a series of bedchambers resided. The walls were tastefully, simply and sparingly decorated with oil paintings. A large picture of a proud man and woman with Athos' vibrant blue eyes hung on one wall of the parlour.

"My grandparents," Athos muttered as they entered the room. A large sofa and some comfortable looking armchairs circled a table before the fire. A bookshelf stood in one corner next to a piano and an easel stood next to the window, an unfinished oil painting still sitting in its grasp.

Porthos and D'Artagnan stared around the room, unsure of where to sit in their dusty road-weary leathers. Aramis was watching Athos who comfortably sat on the couch, his back to the window. Aramis smiled internally at the difference in the swordsman in this home. Though he was still very much focused on their mission at hand, it was clear that Athos was far more comfortable in this sequestered hunting lodge. Aramis draped himself in the seat across from him and Porthos stood next to Athos by the couch as D'Artagnan continued to circle the room and inspect the trimmings.

An elderly woman entered the room carrying a tray burdened with a pitcher of wine, glasses and some fruit and cheese. The men stood to greet her. She smiled and lowered the tray to the table before rounding on Athos.

"You're not eating enough. I can tell right away," she said admonishingly by way of greeting and Athos blushed slightly as the others stifled their laughter.

"Sophie," muttered Maurice warningly.

"Oh please Maurice, if he still hasn't learned to take care of himself, then it's my duty to at least ensure he's eating properly while he's here," she scolded her husband. "You too," she said casting an eye towards Aramis. The lean marksman beamed at her, and sweeping his hat from his head, he bowed to her. She looked taken aback and blushed slightly with a grin at the handsome man. Athos rolled his eyes.

"Thank you Sophie. I told Maurice you need not bother yourself –" Athos began.

"And I've told you a million times young master Olivier, you are never a bother to us," she said. Three musketeers beamed at her as Athos blushed again.

He gestured for her and Maurice to take seats on the couch as he and Porthos stood.

Aramis swayed slightly and retook his seat in the chair, D'Artagnan flocking to his side. His dark eyes stared at the marksman with concern. The ride was harder than Aramis had expected. He'd had a slight fever when they had awoken, but the wound did not look infected as he redressed it in front of the mirror so he did not mention it to his companions, certain that the feeling would pass. He met D'Artagnan's concern with a slight shake of his head and a small smile. He made a mental note to recheck his wound. He would reuse his sling if it turned out that there was nothing amiss within the household. Athos would need him if their investigation continued to hit too close to home.

Athos' eyes circled the room, pausing briefly on the started canvas. He brought a hand to his face and massaged his temples. Aramis took that as his cue.

"Thank you for your hospitality," he said, "But as Athos said earlier, we are here on the King's business. There have been a series of attacks on carriages crossing the Noble Road. Our investigation has led us to believe that these attacks are somehow connected to this home. We fear that perhaps the villain who has been attacking the carriages has a connection to these lands," he said delicately, his eyes flickering to Athos as he said this.

Athos' eyes caught Aramis' in a silent thanks for getting the ball rolling.

"The villain it seems has been hiding in the ruins of the manor. He stole some pages from the family bible and my grandfather's pistols and dagger. He attacked the portrait of this place that I painted for Thomas which in part led us here," said Athos.

"You gave him that portrait?" D'Artagnan interrupted. "You painted all these?" he asked.

Again, Athos blushed. Sophie beamed at him. "Master Olivier painted every one," she said proudly.

Athos sighed. It was clear he was getting frustrated. Aramis delicately interjected as Porthos lay a calming hand on their brother.

"Madame, Monsieur," Aramis said, looking them both in the eye, "Have you noticed anything suspicious about the property? Have you been approached by anyone untoward?"

The couple looked at each other. "No," said Maurice. "There aren't many of us here and we're pretty secluded so we'd noticed if a stranger were lurking about."

"How many staff members do you have to help take care of this place?" Porthos asked.

"One maid, her husband who helps Maurice, a cook and her helper, and one other," said Sophie.

"My brother," said Maurice frowning slightly.

Athos nodded. "We would like to speak to them all - this afternoon, if possible. First, I'd like to tour the house to see if anything is altered."

"They'd have trouble getting anything by me," Sophie said crossly.

"Of that I have no doubt," Aramis said giving her one of his most charming grins which caused her to smile and blush again.

"The change may be subtle, a tampering with a lock for example may not be immediately obvious to the eye," Athos said. Sophie worried her lip a bit at this.

"Of course," she said to Athos. "This is your home. But I insist that you all stay the night."

"We don't want to be any trouble," D'Artagnan offered.

"Nonsense!" she said, brushing away his concern. "Besides, your friend here is very charming," she said gesturing to Aramis. "If I were thirty years younger…It's been some time since someone kept old Maurice here on his toes," she said with a smirk, causing the men around her to fight their grins.

Athos sighed, "If you insist. We'll try to keep Aramis under control," he said, his blue eyes flashing. "Can you please arrange to have the staff brought to the gun room one at time in about two hours' time? I'd like to inspect the house first."

"Yes, my lord," said the older man.

"Athos, please," Athos said, his hand moving to his temple again.

"Yes, of course my lord," he said with a grin, and he and his wife left the room.

"Are you alright?" D'Artagnan asked as he looked at Athos who was still massaging his temples.

"Yes, I'm fine," he said lowering his hand.

"What is it with that word," Porthos grumbled under his breath. Athos shot him a glare.

"I am uninjured and only slightly more frustrated than usual. I am more concerned at the potential dead-end that we may have discovered here," he said, "And I am uncomfortable with the use of titles."

"Come now, _young_ master Athos," Aramis said with an emphasis on the word young, "It's apparent that these two care for you and that you are more at peace here than anywhere else save the garrison. Let us ensure now that nothing is amiss so you can rest easy as we stay here."

Athos raised an eyebrow at the younger marksman. "If I didn't know better, I would almost think you're jealous."

Aramis laughed, "Perhaps…but more so of Maurice. I love women with spirit. I'm sure that Sophie was quite stunning when she was young," he said with a grin.

"She's still outta your league, brother," said Porthos with a chuckle as his brothers laughed as they followed Athos out of the room.

oOo

The Musketeers moved from room to room examining their contents. Once again, they found each room impeccably made up as though ready for guests at any moment. Porthos remarked on the pride with which Maurice and Sophie maintained the household.

As they moved from room to room, Aramis examined the oil paintings that were hung on many of the walls. He paused in front of a particularly striking landscape depicting Paris at sunset, Notre Dame as its focus.

"You did all these Athos? They're really quite good. Some exceptional," he said earnestly.

And for perhaps the fourth time that day – a record by any means – Athos blushed.

"Thank you," he said. "My Grandfather encouraged my painting and Thomas' study of music which was one of the reasons we loved it here. My father despised and would not tolerate either."

"I'm serious, though not surprised, Athos. You have quite the talent. I'd say it almost rivals your sword skills," Aramis repeated. Athos smirked but said nothing. There was a tightness in his chest and a slight stinging in his eyes as he tried to hide his appreciation of this support.

The musketeers entered the last room on the ground floor – the trophy room – and spread out to search its contents. A prized stag bust hung over the desk, a few others hung on the wall to the right and a majestic stuffed fox was laid out on display. The other three walls were almost completely lined with bookshelves. A display case held the de la Fere crest and patents of nobility as well as a few placards highlighting the accolades of various members of the family marking various services to the Crown and other miscellaneous achievements.

Porthos growled, frustrated. "There's nothing in here," he rumbled lowly as he closed the drawers on the large desk in the room. Athos' troubled eyes glanced his way from where he was sifting through a trunk full of maps. Aramis and D'Artagnan were examining the bookcases.

"Your grandfather seemed to be a man who valued knowledge," D'Artagnan said as he flipped through another book he had pulled from a shelf.

"Yes," said Athos. "Both he and my father shared a love of military history, one that I also enjoy, but my grandfather's love of books went further than that. He shared with me a love of philosophy as well. He and I shared a relationship that my actual father and I were never able to even approach."

"What are you looking at?" Porthos ask Aramis. The marksman had been looking at the corner of the bookshelf for some time and was currently running his hand along the far edge of the bookcase. His marksman eyes clearly had noticed something.

"There's a seam here," he muttered. The other musketeers made their way towards him. "I think this is a false bookcase," he explained. He knocked on the back wall of the bookcase and was rewarded with a hollow thud.

"How would you ever think to search for a false bookshelf?" asked D'Artagnan incredulously.

Aramis grinned, "Let's just say they make great hiding spots should a husband return unexpectedly…" he said to which D'Artagnan smirked in response.

"Usually there's a trigger of some sort to open the door, a knot or a book or a bust. Something that's not obvious to the eye," he said.

Athos stared at the row of books that lined the middle shelf. Slowly, he reached his hand forward and placed it on a particular spine.

" _Fide honoris maxime?"_ Aramis asked, "'Loyalty and honour, above everything'"

Athos nodded. "Family motto," he said. The others said nothing. Collectively they held their breath as Athos pulled on the book's spine. A click was heard and the bookshelf shifted forward to reveal a bronze door hidden behind it. Athos reached forward and tried the doorknob. It was locked tight. Porthos stepped in front of Athos and knelt to examine the lock.

"This lock's been tampered with," he said knowingly. "Looks like someone tried to force their way in."

"Can you crack it?" Athos asked.

"Not sure," said Porthos sadly with a shake of his head. "This looks mighty complicated. And expensive. I can tell just by looking at it that the inside's gonna be complex. I can try, but no promises. Sorry, brother," he said.

Athos nodded. "Do what you can. Clearly someone has been trying to access whatever is behind this door. Perhaps we should determine what the fuss was all about."

"Did you not know of this place?" D'Artagnan asked.

"No," said Athos with a slight shake of his head. "I had no knowledge of it, otherwise I would have searched this room first. Its contents are as big of a mystery to me as you."

"Perhaps we should re-examine the door once we speak with the staff. One of them may know of this door or how to open it," Aramis suggested.

"Why did you ask for Maurice and Sophie to bring them down to the gunroom?" D'Artagnan asked as they made their way into the room. "Oh…" he gasped.

The gunroom was a large tiled room with large covered windows. A series of hunting rifles hung on racks on the back wall, a small table with an oilcloth rested at their base. A butchering table stood at another wall with an impressive collection of knives hanging over it. The gouge marks and surface of the table had an eerily menacing reddish tone from decades of accumulated blood. A third table had been placed in the centre of the room, a chair on either side. The dim light filtered in as a reddish haze the contrasted with the bright polished tiles and glinted off the rifles hanging in the room.

"I've always appreciated your flair for the dramatic," Aramis muttered. Athos smirked in reply. They heard footsteps approaching from the hallway.

"Shall we get started?" Porthos said with a grin, his eyes flashing dangerously as he made himself appear as formidable as possible.

"Places," grinned Aramis as he sat himself by the rifles and began disassembling and cleaning one. D'Artagnan leaned casually against the butcher's block as Athos assumed the seat at the table. He nodded to Porthos who grinned once more before replacing the grin with a grimace. He violently yanked the door open and growled at the man waiting for them.

"You. You're Maurice's helper? Got some questions for ya," he said gruffly.

The man blanched and shuffled his way inside to meet the other three grave and dangerous looking musketeers. Uncertainly he took the seat across from Athos, staring up at Porthos as though asking permission.

"Thank you for speaking with us," Athos said softly, his voice barely more than a whisper.

The man gulped and nodded profusely. "Of course my lord, anything my lord," he said.

"Athos, please," he replied

"What is your name?" Aramis asked, as he aimed the rifle at the man and peered down its sight.

"J-John," he muttered.

"Pleasure to meet you," Aramis said lowering the rifle, a threat of danger and violence shrouded the typically jovial marksman giving his kind words a frightening edge. He placed a wooden match in his mouth and gave the man a grin as he began to load the rifle. Porthos had to look away to hide his grin as John's eyes grew larger and he began to sweat, his eyes looking past Athos, fixated on the dangerous sniper with the gun behind him.

"You must know why we're here John," Athos said as the man tore his eyes away from Aramis to refocus on Athos. He shook his head.

"No my lord. I mean, we're happy to have you, but no sir, I know of no specific reason for you to be here at this point in the season."

Athos nodded. "Perhaps you don't," he said. "We're here in service to the King. Several members of the court have been attacked as they passed near here on their way to Paris via the Noble Road," Athos said casually.

"The King doesn't like it when his friends is upset. Sent us in here to right it, as it were," said Porthos as he leaned on the table balancing on his fists, his knuckles audibly cracking as he towered over the man.

John paled even more.

"I swear, my lord, I don't know anything about that," he said frightened as his eyes bounced between Porthos and Athos.

"Of course," said Athos. "However, our investigation has led us to this place, so someone here is somehow connected to the incidents that are occurring."

"My lord, I swear to you, it wasn't me!" said John, his nerves high.

"That's lieutenant," said D'Artagnan slamming his palms onto the top of the butcher's table behind him. The man nearly leapt from his seat.

"You'll have to excuse my friends. They tend to take any threat to my home and my family's honour as an attack on me," he said gravely. The man swallowed again, his eyes the size of saucers. "Have you seen anyone new around the property or have you any idea as to how this home has become entangled in something that the King desires punishment for?"

"No, I mean, not really sir – er Lieutenant," said the man. He was still sweating profusely as he quailed under Athos' gaze.

"Explain," was all Athos said.

"Well he's not new, as he grew up here, but Maurice's brother joined the household a few months back," he said as Athos raised an eyebrow.

"He left some time ago – before my time anyway. Must have been some 20 years ago. He hadn't even spoken to Maurice until all of a sudden when the fire broke out at the main house a few years ago, he suddenly turns up again."

"Is this a man you suspect could be involved?" asked Aramis, rising and shouldering the rifle.

John swallowed. "I'm not sure. He's just…strange. He's a soldier. Seems to thinks he's above serving. Maurice took him in as he's his younger brother, but he doesn't seem to do anything to help out around here."

The musketeers shared a look and all semblance of menace fell from them. Aramis gave the man a warm grin, as Porthos clapped him on the shoulder. The confused man looked from musketeer to musketeer, before heaving a deep sigh and wiping the sweat from his forehead.

"We're very sorry if we made you uncomfortable monsieur," said Aramis, smiling.

"We needed to get a good measure of you, make sure you was on the level," said Porthos

The man nodded, his cheeks flushing.

"Thank you for your service and your honesty," said Athos.

"Yes my lord, Thank you my lord. You're welcome my lord."

"I really do prefer simply Athos," he said with a slight upturn of his mouth.

"Of course! So sorry!" he said.

"One last thing," Athos said. "Do you know anything of the secret bookcase in the trophy room?"

"No," the man said earnestly shaking his head. "I mostly help Maurice tend the grounds and the stables. I'm not in the house much other than to eat and sleep," he said.

"Of course," said Athos kindly. "Thank you for your loyalty John."

"Of course my lord," said the man rising from the table, the chair screeching as he pushed away from the table. Porthos chuckled and clapped a hand onto the man's shoulder again and guided him from the room.

oOo

* * *

 _ **A/N: Thanks for your reviews/feedback! Keep it coming! :-)**_

 _ **Hope you've enjoyed this look at another side of Athos... I know, I know, it didn't advance the plot too much, but a hidden door and the boys being naughty? We're getting there - more to come soon!**_


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Thanks again for your feedback! Here's the next chapter - Let me know what you think!**

* * *

Going Back

Chapter 7

The remaining interviews with the staff went smoothly, but as time wore on, Aramis' body began to protest.

"This is the last one?" he asked Athos reaching for a cup of water.

Athos narrowed his eyes as he saw Aramis' hand shake slightly as he lifted the glass to his lips. He rose from his chair and pushed Aramis into it immediately. He could see a slight sheen of sweat on the marksman face.

"How long has this been going on?" he asked, his hand going to his brow. Aramis was warmer than normal, but the fever seemed mild still. D'Artagnan stood upright and Porthos growled slightly as he marched over to the table.

Aramis grew frustrated and pushed Athos' arm away. "I'm alright!" he said, though he did not rise from the chair. "It's a mild fever – the body's way of dealing with the after effects of the gun shot. It will pass."

"You could have mentioned something earlier," Athos said, his eyes flashing.

"I'm fine Athos. I needed to be here," he said.

"Aramis…" rumbled Porthos.

"I promise, as soon as we are finished with these interviews I will rest as we discuss our findings and next steps."

"In a bed," Porthos insisted.

Aramis scowled. "Fine. But then you will need to discuss our strategy at my bedside. I refuse to be omitted from this investigation. I will only need a little time to recover," he said.

Porthos' brown eyes flashed in challenge and he folded his arms across his chest in an intimidating stance. Aramis, who never refused a challenge, glared back at the towering brawler; his dark Spanish eyes sparked their own fire and promise of violence if he was not kept involved in this investigation over something as small as a gun wound.

Athos raised his hand to his face and began to massage his temples once again. He stepped between his two brothers.

"Aramis, we would never remove you from an investigation unless you needed it, medically. Now, we will agree to discuss our next steps if you promise to participate from bed and remain there until dinner. While I understand why you push yourself to such extremes, you will be more help to us if your mind is clear and your body is rested. If necessary I'm certain that Porthos will be happy to tie you to the bed if that is the only way we can ensure you'll rest."

Aramis bit his cheek as he considered the logic and slight chastisement of Athos' statement. He nodded his assent though his eyes still held their defiance. Porthos stared down at his best friend, a blend of affection and a teasing threat still gleaming in his own eyes. His defiance, devotion and the self-sacrificing love he had for his brothers were three of the things about Aramis that drove Porthos crazy; they were also three of the things that he loved the most about the man. He grinned at Aramis, who grinned back giving him one of his signature mischievous winks.

Crisis averted and a tentative truce reached between his brothers, Athos signalled to Porthos to lead the last member of the household into the room. Maurice and his brother entered after Porthos to where Aramis and Athos sat at the table.

Maurice's brother's eyes widened as he took in the musketeers. The man looked very little like Maurice. He was at least 15 years younger, seemingly in his mid-50s. He was balding like his brother, but where Maurice's hair was fair, the brother's was brown, and bright blue eyes beamed out from his face where warm brown pools were set on either side of Maurice's nose. He took the seat that was offered to him.

"This is my younger brother, Joseph," Maurice said by way of introduction before he exited the room.

"Pleasure to meet you," said Aramis. "I'm Aramis and these are my friends Athos, Porthos and D'Artagnan. We are here conducting an official investigation on behalf of the King." Joseph said nothing, though his blue eyes were focused on the marksman.

"We would like to ask you a few questions if you'll allow us," Aramis said. Joseph said nothing but nodded slightly.

Aramis raised his eyebrows at the silent suspect and looked to Athos.

"How long have you been here, Joseph?" Athos asked bluntly.

"I've been here my whole life," he said as he tore his eyes from Aramis to focus combatively on Athos.

"We were told you had left for a while," Porthos said as he went to stand protectively behind Aramis and Athos. There was something unnerving Porthos in the way Joseph was looking at his brothers.

Joseph nodded slowly. "Well I was gone for a bit. Was looking into something and running a few chores. Then I served in the army for a while. La Rochelle. Mountauban. Royan." He couldn't repress the slight shudder at the memory of his time in the army. Aramis and Porthos nodded their understanding. Porthos had fought in two of those battles, Aramis in all three and many more besides.

"How long have you been back?" Athos rephrased his question.

"Not long. About three or four months. Had to help Maurice. He's not as young as he used to be," he said roughly.

Athos nodded. "The Spring thaw is usually hard here. Was there flooding in the north field again this year?" Athos asked.

A look of confusion ghosted across Joseph's face. Aramis noted the reaction, but kept his inviting grin on his face. "It was about the same as every year."

Athos frowned slightly at his response and looked at the man more closely.

"What did you used to do before the war?" D'Artagnan asked.

Joseph startled as though just realizing D'Artagnan was there as his eyes flickered towards him. "Odd jobs where I could," he said. "As I said, I was looking for answers."

"And did you find them?" Athos asked, his eyebrow raised skeptically.

"In a matter of speaking," the man replied, and this time, Aramis thought you could almost see the anger in his eye as he answered Athos' question.

"There have been some attacks on the Noble Road, not far from here. Do you know anything about them?"

"Was anybody hurt? Was anything actually taken?"

"No…" said Athos slowly. "No one was hurt, but the carriages were damaged. The patrons were en route to Paris so much of their finery was ruined with the filth and debris that was cast upon them. Several collapsed as a result of the altercations."

"The King sent some of his best guards all the way here because some nobles got dirty?" laughed Joseph. "Typical."

Storm clouds gathered over Porthos. He too had thought that the mission was a little ridiculous, but he was duty bound to complete it regardless of his feelings. Having this man give voice to his own frustration over the situation rankled him. The fact that two of his brothers had been injured by the madman who was making this mischief only darkened the situation, but in Porthos' mind had at least given some credibility to their case.

Athos looked at the man, his stone mask of indifference clearly set upon his face. Porthos took a gamble, and with a quick look at Athos, he leant in to Aramis and audibly whispered, "See? This man thinks the mission is nonsense too."

Without missing a beat, Aramis grinned up at him. "Come now mon ami, you know that arriving dirty at the palace is social suicide."

Porthos laughed, "It's worse than the plague to some of 'em, eh? Didn't mind when we was down in the mud at Royan though, eh?" he asked, winking at Joseph.

"You've got to admit that it's an improvement on some of them. Especially the smell," replied Aramis, also grinning at Joseph.

Joseph laughed darkly. "Some of them deserve it more than others," he said. He could not quite keep the bitterness from his voice.

"We should almost be thankin' the man actually," said Porthos. "Brought us to this place. Shame what happened to the rest of the estate, though the people are happy being free and independent."

The man sobered at these words. "It's not a shame, it's a tragedy. The de la Fere estate could have been the jewel of the empire. Now what is it? Ashes and ruins."

"This place remains," said D'Artagnan defensively. "You should be grateful you're allowed to stay here."

Joseph looked at the Gascon for a moment. "Oh yes," he said as a slow cruel smile came to his lips. "I'm **_grateful._** "

"Deserved or not, the King will not tolerate attacks on his citizens. The man also attacked two musketeers. When we find him, he will need to be brought to Paris to stand trial," Athos said coldly, his blue eyes pinning Joseph to his seat. "Is there anything you can offer us that could assist us in our investigation?"

The man stared back at Athos, ice-blue eyes locked on ice-blue eyes. "No. I'm sorry I can't be of any use to you."

'Thank you for your time," said Athos dismissing the man with a nod. He rose and exited without another word.

oOo

The musketeers shared a pointed look as the door swung shut behind Joseph.

Porthos helped Aramis from the chair. Aramis smiled at him, but insisted on walking on his own, and led the musketeers upstairs to one of the guest bedrooms. He settled himself on foot of the bed as D'Artagnan stretched out on a chaise like a cat, sighing slightly at the relief it gave his ribs. Porthos grinned at his brothers as Athos entered the room carrying a steaming mug.

"Sophie says to let that steep before you drink it," he said, passing the mug to Aramis who smelt it and nodded recognizing the herbs that the housekeeper had provided.

"So, are we going to talk about the elephant in the room?" D'Artagnan asked.

"Not sure what you mean," said Porthos with a grin.

"Come on, you picked Joseph out as our man almost as soon as he entered the room," said D'Artagnan. Porthos grinned.

"Well he is the right build. Unfortunately the hood and mask hid his face and muffled his voice," said Aramis, also grinning, though he shrugged his shoulders resignedly.

"What was all that about the north field?" Porthos asked.

"It was just something that John said, about Maurice's brother not actually helping around here," Athos explained. "It's true, the winter was rough and cold, with more snow that usual but it's the south pastures that suffer in the thaw."

"So what are we going to do?" D'Artagnan asked.

"Nothing yet. We'll need to watch him carefully. We need to find something concrete to tie him to the assaults," Athos said.

"There was an anger and bitterness in him. His service in the army can explain some of that…" Aramis said with another shrug of his shoulders.

"True. We're also looking for a man called Felix…Perhaps Joseph is just an accomplice," said Athos. "I'd like to speak to that merchant you spoke with D'Artagnan. I suggest we split up tomorrow. Porthos, you and Aramis will remain here and watch out for Joseph. See if you can get him to warm up to you some more. Aramis, be on alert. If Joseph is connected in some way, he may have been the one who shot you. He may try to finish what was started."

Aramis nodded, "I'll be prepared."

"As will I," said Porthos with a slight growl.

"I feel like there's some sort of key to all of this that we're still missing," said Athos with a frustrated shake of his head.

D'Aratagnan started and slapped his palm against his forehead with enough force to cause him to wince and rub the contact spot. "A key!" he said. "How stupid of me! I forgot all about it!"

The other three stared at the younger man with looks of humour, confusion and concern for his mental wellbeing written on their faces.

"I swear, I'm not mad," said the Gascon as he read the silent expressions of his brothers at his reaction. "I found a key hidden in a corner of the library. It's large and old and bronze. It could be a match to the door of the vault."

"What?!" said Aramis and Athos.

"Oh ya," said Porthos. "That must have been what he was looking for. Musta' just found it when you guys came into the library. Probably forgot about it as he ran."

D'Aratagnan nodded. "I'm sorry I didn't think about it earlier," he muttered angrily.

"Where is the key now?" Athos asked.

"it's back at our room in the inn. We can retrieve it when we go to interview the merchant."

Athos nodded his agreement. "I think it's a good idea that we remove our stuff from the inn for the interim. All roads seem to be leading back to this place."

"But where will we ever find enough beds for us all," said Aramis mockingly.

"Speaking of beds…" Athos replied, casting a triumphant glance at his brother who pouted immediately, "I believe you promised to rest now. You too D'Artagnan. You are both to remain in this room and in this bed, Aramis, until Porthos and I retrieve you for dinner."

The two musketeers pouted as Porthos followed Athos from the room, muttering a quick "Sleep tight kiddies. Have a good nap!" before snapping the door shut on their protestations.

oOo


	8. Chapter 8

Going Back

Chapter 8

The morning dawned bright and sunny as D'Artagnan and Athos mounted their horses before setting out.

Aramis looked darkly on the scene as D'Artagnan winced as he attempted to mount his ride.

"You really shouldn't be riding so much yet. It's only going to aggravated your injuries, and make the recovery process longer for your ribs," he said admonishingly.

D'Artagnan sighed as he looked down at his brother. "Aramis, I'm fine – just a little sore."

"Besides, I'm gonna have to look after you and make sure you don't collapse somewhere seeing how you're recovering from a bullet wound," said Porthos, coming to stand next to Aramis.

Aramis' eyes flashed. "My fever has practically abated. I should be fine by tomorrow."

"Even still," said Athos from his horse. "The two of you and Joseph seemed to have things in common. He is more likely to trust you than me."

"Because bastardy loves company?" Aramis spat bitterly.

Athos' eyes widened, "Because you were both soldiers," he said dully, his voice marked by suppressed emotion.

Aramis realized immediately that what he had said had injured his brother and regretted his outburst instantly.

"Athos," he said reaching for his horse's bridle so he couldn't ride away. "I'm sorry mon ami, I didn't mean to say that. I reacted harshly because I'm feeling useless; this injury is practically healed! I shouldn't take my frustrations and my own baggage out on you though," he said, his dark brown eyes full of repentance as he stroked the horse's nose.

"It's alright," he said, catching the marksman's eye. "I understand. I'm counting on you to see if you can get more information out of him that might lead to an arrest. You are rumoured to be quite charming."

"Irresistible, rumour has it," Porthos piped in with a grin.

Aramis smirked and shook his head. "Typically that's with the fairer sex, but I appreciate the platitudes."

Athos smirked at the man before issuing a final warning. "Be careful. We're not quite sure how Joseph may be connected or what his end goal might be."

Aramis nodded. "Ride safe," he said as he released the harness and watched his brothers leave.

"You hurt him, you know," Pothos said delicately as D'Artagnan and Athos rode out of earshot.

"I know," whispered Aramis as he stared at the ground ashamedly.

"Y'know he puts up those stone walls around his heart, but that comment got through."

Aramis sighed deeply and then looked into the dark eyes of his dearest friend. Porthos could read the sorrow in his brother's eyes; his need to protect the reckless marksman flared instantly.

"I really didn't mean to say it. This whole situation has been weighing on me more than I care to admit to even without the injury. I didn't think about Athos' own anguish over this situation when I spoke. It slipped out before I realized it."

The pair took a seat on a bench that was sheltered by a large oak.

"Care to tell me what's eatin' ya?" Porthos said placing a large comforting hand on the marksman's shoulder.

Aramis sighed; Porthos could almost feel the weight of the stress settling itself onto Aramis' shoulders.

"It's nothing really, or it should be by now," he said. "It's this whole idea of nobility and bastardy. I can't seem to let it go," he said with a shrug.

"Of all the affectionate nicknames my father and his family hurled at me when I was younger, bastard always hit the hardest. I was ten, Porthos, and my mother had just died. I don't need to tell you how desperate and alone I was," he said, giving his brother a small sad smile. "All I wanted was a friend, some comfort, some love…some kind of family! And what I got was resentment, scorn and insult. I was a bastard – a disgrace. Something made from embarrassment. I was less than nothing. I was something to hate, something to be ashamed of. Six years I lived there, enduring their scorn and torment and other tortures at the hands of my father so he could mould me into something he could finally be proud of." Aramis paused, his eyes dark with old pain. "I couldn't stay there, Porthos. Even death on the battlefield was better than having to live with their disgust and disgrace day-in, day-out. No inheritance is worth that."

"I know brother and no one's blamin' you for leavin', but you still shouldn't take it out on Athos. He's got enough trouble tryin' to keep it together right now," said Porthos with a reaffirming squeeze.

"I know. Athos has had enough issues with his family. Now he's just found out the Grandfather he worshipped may have had an illegitimate son that his father may have denied. I could never imagine wanting my father's acceptance enough to potentially kill for it, but our mystery man is desperate for something that Athos has spent years trying to break away from. It seems he's desperate enough to try to kill for it. By law, as a bastard, while there is a living heir to the estate, he has no right to the land or its property; what Athos is struggling to determine, with his over-active guilt complex, is the difference between what is the law and what is right."

Porthos growled. "So far I haven't seen much _right._ If he's been attackin' the coaches and tried to kill you and D'Artagnan, it's pretty clear to me what side of the law he belongs on."

"If he hadn't shot me, would you be so certain? When you have nothing, you have nothing to lose, he told me. If there was something, some sort of acknowledgement of your birth right which could be validated in court – something that would prove that all this land could potentially be yours, would you not doing everything you could to find it?" Aramis asked.

"I sure as anythin' I wouldn't be shootin' at Musketeers," Porthos said stubbornly.

"Neither would I," said Aramis sighing, "but we can't know the depth of this man's desperation, whoever he was."

Porthos nodded. "I think it's time that we try to track down our friend Joseph to see if he's got somethin' he wants to share…see if your charms work on him as well."

Aramis sighed, "Your lack of faith wounds me," he said rising, and with a bark of laughter Porthos joined him as they made their way towards the house in search of Joseph.

oOo

D'Artagnan and Athos rode in silence for the first part of the trip before D'Artagnan's curiosity got the better of him.

"Why are we speaking to the merchant?"

"He is our only other potential witness or suspect. He may be able to give some answers on the subject," said Athos. "He is the only one who said they had seen anything untoward.

"He said he saw a light coming from the manor," said D'Artagnan recalling what was said. Athos nodded his head and grew silent once again.

D'Artagnan cast a wary glance over at his mentor, who brooded silently as his horse plodded along.

"You shouldn't take what Aramis said personally," D'Artagnan said. "He didn't mean anything by it."

Athos continued to ride, a small frown on his lips. D'Artagnan wasn't sure if his comment would be acknowledged, then Athos spoke.

"Aramis wears his heart on his sleeve. He doesn't hide his feelings from those he loves. His words were not directed at me, but at a way of thinking that has been tragically woven into who he is. He and I have spoken of this since we started this mission and many times before that. It's a question of equals and rights - of legitimacy. Even the name is dismissive. For a man like Aramis, who above all praises love, the term is a complete dismissal and corruption of love. In his heart, the term illegitimate sullies the miracle of love and birth. It is hurtful and a curse – one that eventually drove Aramis away from a family – one that he desperately craved. His family used it as a weapon against him. Paired with the physical abuse he was subjected to by his father, it's no wonder that Aramis fled, disavowing any ownership to that name and his potential title. I'm glad he did. They didn't deserve him," Athos said. D'Artagnan smiled, silently agreeing with Athos. If his family couldn't recognize the wonder, vibrancy, compassion and power that was Aramis, Athos was right in saying they didn't deserve him.

Athos sighed and continued. "To be honest, I don't blame him for lashing out at me. This whole situation hits a little too close to home for both of us. I have no doubt that my family would have marginalized and treated an illegitimate son just as poorly as Aramis' family treated him. But that's about where the comparisons end. Aramis would never have turned to anger and violence. I wonder if the man would be so desperate for this place if he understood the curses and the devastation that it brought to me. To think that someone is so desperate to claim this cursed property that I have desperately tried severing from my life, that he is willing to commit crimes to claim it, is absurd."

"Do you really think it's Joseph?" D'Artagnan asked.

Again Athos sighed as the village came into view.

"What we do know is that we're searching for a man named Felix. The coaches were attacked but not robbed and no one was injured, so this was about shaming the nobility, more so than gain. We know that this Felix believes that he is entitled to my family's land. We know he is searching for something within the manor and now the lodge that can validate this. We know he has no regard for authority, and we know that only one other has had any knowledge about someone living in the manor. I am looking to get an alibi, an excuse or a confession from this man, but right now, Joseph is our more probable suspect."

oOo

* * *

 _ **A/N: Well I guess I felt a slight pause was needed so Athos and Aramis could vent a bit...work out some of their feelings to their loving brothers...Hopefully we're back to some action in the next chapter! Thanks for sticking with this!**_


	9. Chapter 9

Going Back

Chapter 9

When Athos and D'Artagnan pulled up to the inn and were greeted by Genn. D'Artagnan asked about the whereabouts of the merchant and her eyes darkened slightly.

"Why are you looking for him?" she asked, a hint of apprehension and anger in her voice.

"Our reasons are our own. Right now we would only like to ask him a few questions," said Athos in his guarded and perceptive monotone, his eyebrow raised in surprise at her anger.

"Begging your pardon, my lord, but the merchant, Henri du Fou he's called, he's trouble my Lord," she said, looking at Athos.

"Just Athos, please," he said. "Please continue."

Genn blushed slightly under his gaze, but did not look away. "He's been seen lingering around your home Athos," she said, his name rolling richly off her tongue. "He was caught on a few occasions with some of your possessions among his wares. The silverware was one of the first things to go. My father and some of the others have taken it upon themselves to protect what remains in the off chance you may one day return," she said.

Athos shook his head. "They need not have bothered," he said ruefully.

"This is your home, Athos," she said fervently. She reached forward to grab the his arm, which was crossed against his chest, startling him slightly. "One day you may learn to love it again," she said. She held his eye for a moment, her pretty face and eyes shining with pride as she looked openly into his face.

"Can you help us find this man?" he asked her softly.

She nodded at him still staring into his eyes.

D'Artagnan excused himself to see to their horses, hoping that there may have been something to the flicker he saw pass through his brother's eyes.

Genn sat herself at a table and Athos took the seat across from her and she smiled at him.

"I can understand the feelings you're struggling with," she said gently. Athos' eyes widened slightly at this remark but he said nothing.

"This place has never been very kind to you, and now once again, you're called upon to defend it," she said.

"I remember you as a boy," she said with a pause. "I remember always thinking how sad you looked, how sad it was that your parents wouldn't let you play with the rest of us children. You always looked so lonely. And then, when your brother was killed…I'm so sorry Athos," she said, quietly wiping a tear from her eye. "Despite all the pain that this place has caused you though, there will always be a place for you here. We will always be your people – and proud to be. You are a good man Athos," she said.

Athos' eyes bore holes into the table as her words washed over him. He was startled again when her hand reached across the table to grasp his. He raised his eyes to look into hers as she gave his hand a warm squeeze. He couldn't help but notice the flecks of green and gold that were woven into her brown eyes. He cleared his throat and pulled his hand away.

"We need to find this merchant Genn. While my own family's reputation may be in tatters, I will not let these villains tarnish the town's reputation…or yours," he said, a ghost of pink tingeing his cheekbones.

"Du Fou's home is next to the milliner's. It's early still. He should still be there – he typically only leaves to sell his wares once a fortnight. It should still be a few days before he heads out to the next town."

Nodding, Athos stood to leave.

"Athos," she said, pausing him in his tracks. He turned to face her as she came towards him. Stepping forwards, she kissed him in the doorway of the inn before pulling away slightly. "You are a good man," she repeated. "Your ancestors would be proud of you. I know that you'll save Pinon again. Be safe," she said as she held him lightly in her arms. Athos looked into her open, softly smiling face and kissed her.

They drew apart and with a nod, Athos exited the inn to where D'Artagnan stood holding their horses. Athos mounted without a word, ignoring the wide eyes and slight smirk of the younger man at his side.

oOo

They headed towards the merchant's home and dismounted and tethering their horses outside. They stepped towards the door and D'Artagnan knocked sharply. They heard a scuffle from inside and then a slight groan.

"Monsieur du Fou?" D'Artagnan called. He and Athos shared a quick glance, then, at the sound of smashing glass, Athos stepped forward and kicked the door open.

The merchant lay on the floor of his living room, struggling to breathe. Blood was pouring from his side where a dagger protruded sealing the man's fate. Athos leapt past him and headed for the back of the home, drawing his pistol as he went. He raced to the back door in time to see a man dressed in black escaping through the woods on a dark horse.

Athos fired at the retreating murderer. His shot missed his intended target, grazing the man's arm instead. The man reacted to the impact but managed to keep riding.

Athos roared in frustration. He was too far to give chase. The villain had escaped.

Athos re-entered the home and angrily kicked aside a stool that stood in the kitchen. He returned to D'Artagnan who desperately was trying to stop the merchant's wound from bleeding.

"Who did this to you?" Athos said, bending over the man, locking him down with his eyes.

Monsieur du Fou squirmed and gasped as pain flared in his side.

"F-F-Felix…" he muttered and coughed, blood speckling his lips.

"Why?" Athos growled.

The man coughed again. Athos looked at D'Artagnan who shook his head.

"Why?" Athos repeated.

"The key…" wheezed the man, his voice and his breathing fading, "He lost the key…"

"Why did you help him?" he asked.

The man's eyes grew more panicked as Athos' eyes bore down on him. "Had…to…found him…at the house…attacked me."

Athos' eyes grew wide. "You were looking for items you could steal to sell. Did you attack the carriages? Did you shoot the musketeer?" he said.

The man swallowed thickly, his breath was faint now. He had grown white as paper, his blood coated the floor. His eyes flickered upwards, his chest stilled and he was gone.

Athos stood and turned away from the man on the floor. D'Artagnan rose and came to stand at his side, his hands still covered in the man's blood.

"Did you manage to see the murderer?" he asked quietly.

Athos shook his head. "He was too far away. I only managed to graze his arm," he said bitterly.

"This is the blade I pulled from the wound," D'Artagnan said. He handed Athos the blade then headed to the kitchen to clean his hands and to search for something to clean up the blood.

Athos stared down at the blade he held in his hands. The silver gleam of it was marred by the blood of the merchant, but the family crest was still visible. The handle had three small stones mounted near the hilt. The words " _Fide honoris maxime_ " were engraved on the handle. The family motto. Loyalty and honour, above everything. His grandfather's blade.

D'Artagnan covered the man with a sheet and he and Athos exited the home.

"We'll tell the innkeeper of what happened. He'll take care of the body," Athos said. He wiped the blade on his pant leg before stowing it in his saddlebag.

As they returned to the inn, Genn and her father met them on the porch, their eyes wide as they took in the bloodied musketeers.

"The merchant is dead," said Athos. "He was murdered by the man who has been attacking the nobles on the road. He claims to be the illegitimate son of my grandfather. He is determined to prove his claim – even if that means murder to get what he wants," Athos said bitterly.

"Renard? Your grandfather? Have an illegitimate son? That's preposterous," said the innkeeper. "You grandfather was one of the most noble and honourable men I have known. He valued honour above all things, upholding the de la Fere motto. More than that, he loved your grandmother. I would never believe that he would betray her that way."

Athos looked deeply into the fervent eyes of the innkeeper, and his heart swelled a little.

"Father, let them inside," Genn said, casting an eye on the locals who were staring at the men with interest. "Come, I'll have baths drawn so you can wash the blood from you," she said.

The innkeeper nodded. "I'll have the body taken care of," he said as Genn reached down and took Athos by the hand. He didn't start at her touch, but allowed himself to be led up to their room.

oOo


	10. Chapter 10

**_A/N: Thank you so much for the great messages and reviews! Glad y'all liked a little Athos love ;-) Thanks for sticking with this story - your awesome feedback means a lot!_**

* * *

Going Back

Chapter 1o

While Athos and D'Artagnan neared the town, Aramis and Porthos had a fruitless search for Joseph on the grounds of the hunting lodge. They asked the staff who informed them that he was supposed to have accompanied Maurice to check some of their snares and would be gone for most of the day.

Porthos growled in frustration. "Of all the times for him to take sudden interest in maintaining the grounds…"

"I'm fairly disappointed that I won't be able to dispel your and Athos' lack of faith in my charm," Aramis responded with a grin.

Porthos grinned back. "We have the utmost appreciation for your silver tongue. It's gotten us out of and into trouble more times than I can count. Joseph is not here though, so what should we do now?"

"Perhaps we can find our needle in the haystack of Joseph's quarters?" said Aramis mischievously.

Porthos and Aramis made their way to Joseph's quarters in the servants' section of the lodge.

The room was large with few possessions. The walls were unadorned, there were no books on the shelves, not even a copy of the bible. A chest sat by the foot of the bed. Porthos grinned and lifted the chest onto the table by the hearth and went to work on the lock.

Aramis searched the remainder of the room. He examined a chest of drawers. The first two contained some spare clothing and an extra blanket. Aramis opened the bottom drawer. Inside he found what appeared to be an old tattered journal. Aramis picked it up and began to flip through it. His eyes grew wide as frantic and enraged scrawling leapt off the page. Words of hate and anger fired at Aramis like bullets from the man's quill. The manic language levelled curses at the King, at the country and at the members of the de la Fere family. Aramis' eyes grew dark as he read the hateful words. The book's author spoke of his certainty that he was an heir of Renard's in mangled thoughts and wounded language. The text was riddled with claims and anger but no actual evidence or indication as to where these thoughts originated.

"They deserve to burn," Aramis read, "The whole family. They should be cast out and slaughtered with the pigs. They're not worthy to bear my name. They don't deserve it. I'd gut those brats myself. Olivier and Thomas. Dimwitted ingrates of that imbecile Guillaume – How dare he deny me! I'll get my justice!"

"Ha!" Porthos shouted suddenly, as the trunk clicked open, causing Aramis to startle from the confused and dark words he was reading.

Porthos' eyes flashed in concern as he looked at the pale marksman. "You alright?"

Aramis took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. "I've just been searching the labyrinth of a madman's mind. His journal," Aramis said gesturing to the book in his hands. "There's no indication of the author but I'd put money on it being Joseph's. It's full of anger, Porthos. He blames them for everything. His struggles, his war service, what happened to him out there…it's disturbing," he said with a shudder. Porthos looked concernedly at his brother.

"I got the chest open," Porthos said, hoping to distract the marksman as he continued to flip through the pages. Seeing that Aramis was still trying to discern something from the journal, he began looking through the contents of the chest. He pulled out the torn pages from the family bible and set them aside. A tapestry of the family crest was splattered with blood. Lastly, Porthos pulled a pistol from the bottom of the chest and let out a low whistle.

"'Mis, take a look at this," he said. The marksman made his way over to the table and set down the journal. Porthos handed Aramis the silver pistol and Aramis' eyes grew wide at the ornate weapon. A large ruby was set in the butt end of the pistol. Elegant scrollwork was engraved on the barrel along with the words of the de la Fere family motto which circled around the handle.

Aramis raised the pistol to his eye and gauged the sight. He examined the pin and stared into the barrel, giving the weapon a slight sniff. "This has been fired recently. And not cleaned correctly," he said shaking his head.

"I'd put money on it that this was the weapon that shot you," Porthos said.

Aramis nodded. "I remember the barrel was engraved with similar scrollwork. I couldn't make out the writing at the time," he said. "We need to tell Athos. Look at this," Aramis said, turning the book so Porthos could see what was written on the last page.

"There's only one left. The ungrateful. Threw it away and burnt it to ash. He doesn't deserve it. Only one left. Then it's mine…" Porthos read. "He's talking about Athos!"

Aramis nodded. "We need to warn him."

Just then Sophie bustled into the room carrying a freshly laundered shirt.

Aramis snapped the book shut and Porthos hastily stepped in front of the contents of the chest.

"Oh!" she said, "Didn't expect to find you here! What's Felix done now?" she asked with a roll of her eyes.

Two sets of eyebrows flew to hairlines. Aramis stepped forward and placing his hand on the woman's shoulder, his eyes burned into hers. "Felix?" he asked gently, "I thought Maurice's brother was named Joseph."

"Yes...Joseph Felix Lacroix," Sophie said confusedly. "He was named after one of the former masters of this place. Maurice's family has been serving here for generations."

"Why would Maurice introduce him as Joseph?" Aramis asked, forcing his voice to remain calm.

"He's always been Joseph, but I've always called him Felix as a nickname. Known the lad since he was a baby, after all," she said, the confusion heavy in her voice.

Aramis nodded. "Thank you Sophie. If you see…Felix, can you tell him that Porthos and I were looking to share a drink and some war stories if he'd care to join us? Can you also ask John to meet us here quickly?" he said with a warm smile.

"Oh, all right then," she said as she cast another confused smile at the marksman as he led her out of the room.

"We need to tell Athos now," said Porthos urgently when they were once more alone.

"He should be back soon," said Aramis. He threw the other evidence and the journal into the trunk as John came into view. "John!" said Aramis, smiling warmly at the man.

John smiled back hesitantly when he saw the dark and troubled face of the brawler.

"I just ran into Sophie…" he said.

"Excellent," said Aramis putting his arm around the man, guiding him back towards the door. "Porthos and I are looking for Joseph. Can you man the back door and let us know once he arrives?"

John raised an eyebrow but nodded and left the room.

"Let's go," said Porthos, lifting the trunk. "We'll meet them in the trophy room."

Aramis followed Porthos out of the bedroom, hoping that their friends would return soon and would beat the madman back to the lodge.

oOo


	11. Chapter 11

Going Back

Chapter 11

As they rode up the lawn of the lodge, D'Artagnan and Athos could see Porthos waiting for them.

"This doesn't look good," D'Artagnan muttered as they spurred their horses to ride faster towards him.

"Aramis?" asked Athos instantly, seeing the stress written on the face of his brother.

"He's fine. Let's take this inside," said Porthos casting a wary glance around the lawn.

Athos' eyes darkened as he followed the brawler into the trophy room. Aramis was standing there pouring over a book; a trunk was open on the desk in front of him. He straightened as Athos and D'Artagnan followed Porthos into the room.

"Is that a new shirt?" Aramis asked, picking up instantly on the changed appearance of his brothers.

Athos shrugged. "The merchant has been murdered," Athos said. "Apparently he was threatened to help this Felix. He was searching for the lost key. He killed the merchant with my grandfather's dagger when he said he didn't have it," he said dropping the blade onto the table. "The murderer ran. I barely grazed his arm as he fled," he said bitterly, his frustration palpable.

"Did you get anything more on Joseph?" D'Artagnan asked.

Aramis and Porthos exchanged a look.

"Joseph was supposed to have left to check some snares early this morning. Maurice said he never showed. He hasn't been back since," said Porthos.

Athos shot his brothers a quizzical look at their anxious expressions.

"Do we have to beg?" Athos asked. Porthos and Aramis glanced at each other again. Porthos shrugged and Aramis took charge.

"When we realized we wouldn't be able to speak to Joseph right away, we decided to search his room. I found his journal and Porthos was able to crack the chest. In it we found your grandfather's pistol, and the missing bible pages among other things. His journal…" Aramis began, "his journal is that of a man who is deeply disturbed. He seems to have been obsessed with your family for some time, and has somehow connected them to all the misfortunes in his life – from his service in the army, to his inability to find a wife or a job, every unfortunate incident he has suffered he has tied to your family."

Aramis ran his hand through his hair as he struggled to communicate the depth of what he had learned. "The journal..." he began, "The journal is full of violent thoughts and language and a strong assertion for what he is owed, but nothing to actually support those claims. It is the ravings of a madman, of a man that has let his anger and misfortune drive all reasoning from his mind. His writings date back to La Rochelle. I'm not sure what may have happened to him there, but having been there…the horrors of that battle could be enough to break any man. Somehow I think that's when this delusion began," he said with a shake of his head.

Aramis took a deep breath as he watched Athos' face. It was clear that the wheels in his mind were spinning rapidly.

"There's more," Aramis said. Slowly, he turned to show them the last page of the journal that lay open on the table. The handwriting was jagged and wild. A dark smudge also marred the page and looked suspiciously like blood.

The words on the page burned into Athos' eyes. With effort he tore them away and looked to the marksman. Aramis' brown eyes were wide with concern. "Joseph is Felix, Athos. Joseph Felix Lacroix."

"He was told he was named after your great grandfather, which fed his delusion that he was your grandfather's son," said Porthos. Athos nodded.

"Athos, he may be coming for you," said D'Artagnan urgently. Again Athos nodded, which frustrated the younger man. "He's already shot Aramis and has now killed someone. His crimes have escalated. If he thinks you are the last thing preventing him from laying a claim to the land, he'll come for you," he said forcefully.

Aramis nodded. "With you out of the way, there would be no one to dispel his claim. And as you said, he has just killed a man who seemed to have aided at least in some of his crimes."

The men grew silent, waiting for Athos to respond.

"Athos," said Porthos carefully, "What's the plan?"

"We let him come," said Athos.

"What?!" cried D'Artagnan, incredulously.

"This is my home," Athos said lowly. "I will not surrender it without a fight. I will challenge him to a duel."

Porthos growled. "Athos, you can't be serious. This is a soldier Athos. We have no idea how good he may be with a blade, but we know he's fast and he's a fighter."

"This is reckless Athos. Foolish even," said D'Artagnan. "You gave away the estate, why not just give this place away as well."

"Because he loves it," said Aramis quietly, causing Porthos and D'Artagnan to whip their heads around to stare openly at the marksman. Aramis stared straight ahead, his and Athos' eyes locked together. "It is his birthright. It is one thing to give it away, and quite another to have someone strip it from you. If this is what you want Athos, I will be your second."

The swordsman stared into the eyes of his brother with all the love and gratitude he could muster. In that moment, he and Aramis came to an understanding. Athos felt the pain of being told they were undeserving and unworthy of their title and Aramis felt the pride in a place and a name – even if it was a hated name – that he never could before. Looking into Aramis' eyes, Athos nodded.

"No," said D'Artagnan.

"You're both outta your minds if you expect us to sit here and watch the two of you risk your lives…" Porthos growled.

"Porthos…" Aramis said softly.

"This is somethin' just outta your playbook. You were shot only a few days ago!" he roared. The marksman flinched at his brother's words, but he held his ground, his eyes burning defiantly at Porthos. Porthos knew he had gone too far, but his protective instincts could not be dialled back.

"No Porthos," said Athos, "This is about loyalty and above all else honour," he said. "I cannot let this murderer pretend to lay claim to all that remains of my family's lands – to all I have left of my brother, and the only place other than the Garrison where I have ever felt at home."

D'Artagnan stood there nervously gazing between his brothers.

"Athos," he whispered, "Are you sure?"

Athos looked around, catching each brother's eye, and nodded firmly.

oOo

* * *

 _ **A/N: Oooh a cliffhanger! Sorry, I'm not sorry ;-)**_

 _ **Thanks again for reading and reviewing - more soon!**_


	12. Chapter 12

**_A/N: Wow! Thanks for reading!_**

 ** _I had to push to get this up for you all in time for the weekend - hope you like it!_**

 ** _Once again, thanks for your reviews, feedback, reactions, advice etc. It really is the best. Cheers!_**

* * *

Going Back

Chapter 12

It was dusk. The torches were lit outside the doors of the hunting lodge. The departing sun soaked the lawns and sky in blood as it began to dip below the tree-line. Athos stood at the foot of the stairs with Aramis next to him, barring the entrance to the lodge as Felix strode forward with an ugly brute of a man at his side. They were both heavily armed as though going to battle, not to a duel. Athos was unsurprised at the presence of the new man or the number of pistols and knives that hung from his belt. A bandage was just visible on Felix's left arm where Athos' bullet had grazed him as he fled the merchant's yard.

Porthos and D'Artagnan stood to the side, angrily clenching their fists or pacing nervously.

Felix smiled, "Hello nephew," he sneered at Athos. "Have you come to surrender? You threw away everything else – why not your life?"

Behind Athos, Maurice and Sophie appeared in the doorway. Maurice seemed to have aged another ten years; Sophie had tears streaming down her face.

"How could you, Felix? We know what you've done," she said desolately.

"Why, brother?" Maurice asked, his voice trembling.

"Why? Why?!" he roared. "Do you have any idea what it's been like knowing that you should have received so much more than what you got? Being denied what is mine? What should have been mine by birth? Knowing that I should have been worshipped like nobility and instead had to live without privilege under the false and lowly name of Lacroix like a dog? Of course you don't, you simpering fool. We are not all born to serve like idiots like you!"

"Silence!" shouted Aramis stepping forward, his hand moving to his pistol.

Felix grinned at the marksman. "Of course. A brave musketeer stepping forward to defend the ignorant. I shot you once already. How foolish of me. I thought you were clever, but clearly you didn't learn your lesson the first time."

"Foolish?" said Aramis, "You're delusional. There is no proof to support your claim. You think that because you were named Felix and you have blue eyes that you're worthy to be Comte de la Fere? You just hurt the only family you have. But please, we can help you – we can get you help. I was there, as was Porthos. We know the horrors of La Rochelle. Let us help you," he said trying to reach the man.

"Save your empathy and compassion for those who need it. I nearly died at La Rochelle. And that's what woke me up. I was tired of living as nothing. I knew it was time to finally lay claim to my title!" he roared, gesturing angrily at Athos who stood calmly watching the madman. "He and I are equals, except where he was given everything and burned it all away, I had to fight and still fight for what is owed to me, you Spanish bastard!"

Porthos growled angrily at these words but Aramis raised a hand to stop him.

"The differences between you and Athos are insurmountable but it all comes down to loyalty and honour; you sacrificed whatever honour you had when you began attacking the nobility because you couldn't accept the answers that were right in front of you, because you refused to make something of your life. You sacrificed your honour when you manipulated and lashed out at these good people who cared for you. You are not a de la Fere. Your only claim lies in your twisted mind. You are a murderer," he said coldly, his Spanish eyes dark with the promise of violence, and flashed with lightning.

"You bastard!" Felix snarled, shaking with fury.

"You're not even worthy of that name," said Aramis coldly.

Felix made for his pistol, but Aramis drew his first. "Make a move towards that pistol and you'll be dead before your hand can brush the surface. Both of you," he said drawing his second pistol and aiming it at the thug at Felix's side whose hand was twitching, eager to draw his own pistol.

"Is this the behaviour of a gentleman?" Felix asked with a sneer, breathing heavily as he pulled himself together.

"It is the behaviour of a brother," said Athos coldly. "And forgive us, if we find it difficult to trust a murderer and a hired thug to act with honour."

"Enough," he hissed. "You believe you're above me, Olivier? With you gone there is no other to claim the land. The lodge will be mine."

"You're mad," Athos said. "The King will never grant the lands to a murderer."

"He will if there are no witnesses to my crimes! En garde," roared the madman, pulling free his rapier and charging at Athos.

Athos drew his blade. Aramis kept his pistol trained on the thug.

The initial charge Athos sidestepped easily. The man quickly rebounded and began his attack.

He was surprisingly talented with a blade. He lacked the finesse of Athos, but this was a man with a past riddled with battles; he knew how to wield a blade to defend and to kill. He learned to fight without honour and without mercy but for survival, whereas Athos learned to fight like a gentlemen.

Felix, however, clearly did not know that Athos was far from a posturing noble. His blade had seen years of service and action in defence of his King, the crown, the innocent and his brothers.

Athos dodged another lunge and countered that with a riposte, followed by a hard punch to the jaw that had the man spinning away from him. He growled and drew a main gauche. Athos smirked and drew his grandfather's dagger. The man's eyes flashed as he recognized the blade and with a howl he threw himself again at the swordsman, his strokes coming vicious and wild.

He grew lucky in the wake of his rage and managed to get in a glancing blow to Athos' forearm. The wound drew blood, but Athos could tell it was shallow. The sight of the blood made the man more brazen as Aramis, Porthos and D'Artagnan grew more anxious. Aramis had taken his eye off the thug and was staring intently at his injured brother, duelling for his life.

Felix peacocked as though the match was already decided. He raised his blade again and moved in on Athos with a complex attaque au fer. Athos read the move and blocked the rapier while dragging his grandfather's dagger across the man's wrist. Felix howled and sprang back.

"Help me you fool!" he shouted at his cohort.

The thug pulled his pistol and a shot rang out across the field. The villain fell with a bullet hole in is chest that he would not recover from. Aramis stood with his pistol smoking in his hand.

"You coward!" shouted Porthos. "There's no one left to help you cheat now!"

Felix's head spun as though needing to confirm Porthos' words. His eyes were evidently panicked.

"Surrender, and I need not kill you. You will face a trial in Paris," said Athos.

The man laughed bitterly. "Oh yes? What do you expect the outcome of that to be?" he asked as he clutched his injured arm against his chest. "When you have nothing, you have nothing left to lose!" he shouted and leapt again towards Athos, with his arm raised. Athos ducked under the wild overhead strike and plunged his dagger into the man's side.

The man staggered. He pulled the blade from his side and cast it away. There was madness in his eyes now. He swung wildly and Athos kicked him to his knees, the rapier falling away from him as his knees hit the ground.

"Surrender," Athos said coldly. "You are defeated."

"You didn't deserve it. It should have been mine," he said, spitting blood.

"You're right," Athos said. "I didn't deserve to be born into wealth, no one does. I didn't deserve to be isolated as a child and lectured and disciplined endlessly. I didn't deserve to be punished for thinking that the townspeople were equal, or for talking to others my age. I didn't deserve the disinterest, disregard and disappointment of my parents when all I wanted was to be loved and accepted. And you did not deserve the love your family gave to you. With that you would have been a million times richer than I was. You were ungrateful," Athos said, turning away from the dying man on his knees.

"Athos!" cried Aramis as Felix sprang to his feet, a hidden knife in hand for one last desperate and violent surge. Athos spun to meet the coward, driving his rapier into the madman's gut as Felix's blade pierced Athos' chest.

They stood there for a moment before Athos released the murderer and he fell, impaled on the rapier, the knife falling somewhere by his feet.

Athos' chest was on fire. He staggered as his vision blurred. He heard the panic of his brothers around him. He could just make out the blurry figure of Aramis slide to his side, catching him as he fell and cradling him against his body. He stared up into the dark eyes of his brother, his words incoherent and echoing as though from far away. The last thing he registered before the darkness took him was the fear in three sets of brown eyes.

oOo


	13. Chapter 13

**_A/N: Thanks for all your responses to the last chapter! What will happen to Athos?_**

 ** _Let's find out..._**

* * *

Going Back

Chapter 13

His blood had been everywhere – more blood than there should have been for a simple stab wound.

But this wasn't a simple stab wound.

Aramis had shouted at Porthos to grab the blade as he cradled Athos against him and put pressure on the wound. The knife had been serrated; the hole it left was haggard and Aramis sucked in his breath as he lifted his hand briefly to see it. The blade's tip was clearly missing, either snapping on its entry or withdrawal from his brother's body. Porthos handed the blade to D'Artagnan who ran into the lodge commanding the staff to clear the kitchen and set water to boil.

Athos had grown increasingly pale as Aramis unwound the blue sash from about his waist and pressed it hard against the wound. Athos' eyes flickered open slightly.

"Athos!" cried Aramis, seeing the hint of blue under long lashes. "Athos! Stay with me brother! I've got you. We've got you. Don't let go! Hold on!" he said, grasping the man's hand, while the other maintained the pressure on his chest. Athos gave a slight nod and squeezed Aramis' hand, affirming his faith and trust in the medic. Aramis returned the squeeze with a strained smile.

With a frantic look from Aramis, Porthos scooped the swordsman into his arms as if he weighed no more than a child. Panic was written across the brawler's face as he and Aramis dashed inside the lodge and headed to the kitchen, Athos clasped protectively in his arms.

D'Artagnan had the kitchen prepped as Porthos lay Athos onto the scrubbed wooden table. Water was boiling and a kettle was steeping with herbs to combat the pain and blood loss. Aramis' med kit was open. His blade, a needle and a thin pair of forceps were bathed in the boiling water and stood ready. D'Artagnan was pre-emptively working on one of Aramis' poultices, vigorously grinding herbs, as Porthos and Aramis tore the clothes from Athos' chest.

Aramis began wiping at the blood and glanced at his brothers. D'Artagnan lowered the mortar and pestle he was working with and brought the boiled water over to the medic as Porthos braced the injured man's shoulder. D'Artagnan took his position at the man's legs. With a nod, Aramis began to pour the water over the wound, flushing it clean. Athos' body lurched in response to the pain, but Porthos and D'Artagnan held him still, Porthos muttering words of comfort, as Aramis continued to flush the wound.

The bleeding was steady and Athos continued to grow pale.

"The tip is still in there," Aramis muttered. Porthos and D'Artagnan's eyes widened, but they said nothing and maintained their positions and faith in their brother's skills.

Picking up his blade, Aramis was forced to widen the already haggard wound. He grimaced as Athos thrashed against the pain. Carefully he inserted the forceps into the wound. When the instrument made contact with the knife tip, Athos screamed in pain, his body arching off the table. It took all Porthos and D'Artagnan had to restrain him when suddenly an unnatural stillness took him. Aramis' hand flew to Athos' throat. Finding a pulse he let out a sigh of relief.

"What's wrong?" D'Artagnan asked desperately.

"The blade tip has embedded itself in one of the ribs on his left side, essentially breaking the rib and severely damaging the muscle. I need to try to extract the blade as a whole without doing further damage to the rib," Aramis replied darkly. He slowly and carefully manipulated the forceps, his brow furrowing as he concentrated on removing the foreign object while trying to save his brother pain.

He growled lowly as the forceps lost purchase on the blade. Though frustrated, Aramis didn't react further, as he glanced continuously at Athos' face. Sweat had begun to form on his forehead at the exertion and level of focus required from the medic. Relief flared in his eyes as he finally was able to extricate the knife tip.

The bleeding had begun to slow as Aramis reach for a bottle of clear liquor. He liberally poured the alcohol into and over the wound. He frowned when Athos barely reacted, but the steady thump of his pulse and the visible rise and fall of his chest brought him comfort.

D'Artagnan moved back to his poultice as Aramis wiped down the wound with a clean cloth and began to stitch the cruelly torn flesh shut. Athos was still unconscious, but Aramis was grateful that he wouldn't have to endure the added discomfort of the stitching. He placed the final stitch, dousing the wound once again with the alcohol and examined the cut along Athos' forearm that he had sustained in the duel. It was shallow and had already stopped bleeding. Aramis took a clean cloth and dipping it in the still warm water, he washed it thoroughly before dousing it too with the alcohol. Athos' body reacted more strongly – a good sign.

Aramis turned to face d'Artagnan. The young man's face was creased with worry. Aramis took the poultice from him, and examining its texture, he smiled approvingly at him, once again pleased by his medical work. He slathered the wound and the cut to the forearm with the poultice that would hopefully promote the healing of both and prevent any infection. He wrapped both injuries in bandages, his hands dry but stained red by his brother's blood.

He stared at his bloody hands for a moment and a flash of fear crossed his face. Porthos placed a hand on his shoulder and passed Aramis a bowl of clean warm water to wash with. Concerned dark eyes shone out from the brawler, and the marksman offered him a small smile as rivers of pink ran off his fingertips as he washed them.

Aramis looked up while he dried his hands to Athos stirring slightly. Leaning forward, he cupped the man's face and whispered words of encouragement.

"Come now Athos, you're not one to lay about," he coaxed as Athos' eyes roved behind closed lids. "I can tell you're glaring at me. Why not open those eyelids. Your glares are far less effective when I can't see your angry blue eyes."

Athos' eyelids slowly raised and the blue eyes locked onto Aramis. Aramis grinned.

"It would be too much to ask for a peaceful recovery," Athos muttered hoarsely.

"I've found you're quicker to rouse when you feel the need to retort," Aramis said with a grin.

"How are you feeling?" Porthos asked, concernedly. In response Athos tried to rise, exerting a huge groan in pain as the muscles in his chest seared like fire.

"Honestly!" Aramis cried. "I'm not finished with you. For a man of education, and having been a musketeer for as long as you have you should know better than to put pressure on a stab wound so soon after you received it!" Aramis scolded, eyes flashing violently as Athos began to wheeze. Aramis' tone shifted instantly as he coaxed his brother to calm his breathing. "One of your ribs is broken. I need to bind your arm to your chest so you don't aggravate it. It'll help your breathing too. I wanted the opportunity to explain this to you, before you awoke bound and panicking," he soothed, though not without a little admonishment.

Athos nodded his thanks as Aramis stepped away to gather his bandages. D'Artagnan took the space on the other side of the table. Silently, he took the swordsman's hand and gave it a squeeze. Silently, Athos squeezed back. Porthos helped Athos into a seated position, his strong arm circling the man's back as Aramis began to bind his shoulder.

"What happened?" Athos asked.

"What do you remember?" Aramis replied.

Athos' eyes darkened slightly. "Joseph – Felix – we duelled. He tried to cheat, called his crony, but you were there. You shot him," he said catching the marksman's eyes; he stopped in his ministration to share the emotional exchange with his brother.

"Is there anything else you remember?" Aramis asked softly as he returned to binding the man's shoulder.

"I injured Felix. Badly. You called out to me as he tried to attack me from behind. He died…but it appears he managed to stab me," Athos shook his head. "I heard you all, but everything was blurry. You told me…you told me not to let go," he finished awkwardly.

"And it seems you haven't," Aramis said smiling as he gestured to Athos' hand still clutched in D'Artagnan's and Porthos' arm providing him with support. Athos rewarded Aramis with a small, shy, genuine smile but he did not release D'Artagnan's grip.

Athos gasped again, his normally pale complexion was tinged with grey.

"Come," he said. "You need to rest. Porthos will help you to your room."

"I'm fine" Athos began. "I can walk. I will not be carried," he said glaring at them all.

"Athos," Aramis said angrily, his brown eyes meeting the flash of blue.

"No, Aramis, I need to do this," he said, "I am fine."

"There's that word again," Porthos muttered giving the man a stern look. "I ain't gonna carry you, but you will need to lean on me as I ain't taking my arm off of you," he threatened.

Athos sighed and nodded and agreed to allow Porthos to guide from the room. Aramis' brow was furrowed with anger and concern, but he sighed after a look from Porthos.

Athos rose and with a victorious look at Aramis, he and Porthos exited the kitchen. Aramis' frown deepened as he heard Athos wheeze.

D'Artagnan noticed and held back.

"What is it?" he asked.

The medic look startled, unaware that his concern had betrayed him. He brought a hand up and brushed back his hair before massaging his temple. "The blade," he said. "It caused a lot of damage. It'll be weeks before the muscle heals and the bone repairs itself. More than that though, I worry about the cleanliness of the blade. I did what I could to clean the wound, but as you know, the risk of fever or infection is great, especially with the amount of blood that was lost. You know he's a stubborn ass when it comes to his health...overexerting himself could be just as fatal, but if allowing him to walk ensure he'll get to a bed to rest…"

"You've done all you could, Aramis. If my tabulations are correct, you saved Athos three times today. I trust you, and he trusts you to have his back and pull him back from the brink if necessary. We know that you won't let anything happen to us," D'Artagnan said earnestly.

Aramis offered the younger man a small grin. "I should get this tea to him in case he loses consciousness again," he said.

"You go," said D'Artagnan, "I'll be right up. I want to clean this place a bit so as not to startle the chef."

Aramis smiled at the lad, and clapped him on the shoulder, the courtesy of his young friend warming him as much as the still hot mug of tea in his hands.

oOo


	14. Chapter 14

Going Back

Chapter 14

Athos was still standing at the bottom of the large staircase when Aramis entered the foyer carrying the mug. He frowned as he saw Athos leaning against the balustrade.

"You're being unreasonable," growled Porthos.

"I'm fine Porthos, I just need a minute," Athos gasped. He was pale and sweaty.

"Of all the obstinate…" Aramis said as he approached the duo.

"He's insisting that he climb the stairs," said Porthos, shaking his head angrily. "He's nearly collapsed just crossing the foyer."

"Athos, this is ridiculous! You've lost a lot of blood, and have been stabbed, and stitched. I had to remove a serrated blade that was embedded in your broken rib! For whatever love you bear for me as your medic and your brother, PLEASE Athos, let Porthos carry you up the stairs! I have a tea here that will help you cope with the pain and allow you to sleep. You've clearly over-exerted yourself already and I'm worried as to how that will add to the trauma your body has already sustained," Aramis begged.

Athos glared at the marksman for the ultimatum. He tried to straighten his shoulders, but the surge of pain in his chest had him gasp and sway dangerously. Porthos growled and without further discussion, Porthos gathered the man in his arms and carried him up the stairs like a bride with Aramis on his heels.

Porthos carried Athos up the stairs to the master suite. He could feel the sweat of the man where he pressed against his skin; the heat that had begun radiating off his skin had Porthos more concerned. As they placed him in the bed, Aramis too felt the heat coming from his brother.

"Here Athos," he said, handing him the mug, "I need you to drink this whole thing."

Athos took a sip and grimaced. These herbal concoctions of Aramis' usually did the trick but they tasted awful. Dutifully, he drank the whole mug. He was exhausted. Trying to manage on his own was foolish he knew, but if there was one thing Athos hated, it was the feeling of uselessness. It was strange for him to be the focus of his brothers' care and concern; it was not something he had grown up with, and so he felt embarrassed and uncomfortable each time he was the focus of such care.

D'Artagnan entered the room as Athos handed the empty mug back to Aramis.

"Rest now. Your body needs some time to recover," Aramis said.

"We'll be right here," said D'Artagnan. "We won't let anything happen to you," he said as he stood next to the marksman. Porthos nodded from the other side of the bed.

"I know," said Athos as his eyes drifted closed.

The three musketeers looked down on their sleeping brother.

"He's warm," Porthos whispered. Aramis nodded, delicately placing his hand on Athos' forehead.

"Only slightly," Aramis muttered. He sighed deeply. "We'll need to watch him. Hopefully this is as bad as it gets. The best thing for him is rest."

There was a soft knock on the door, which the three men turned as one to face, each taking a defensive stance to protect their brother. Maurice opened the door as he and Sophie came in slowly carrying a tray. They both looked grief-stricken. Sophie placed the tray on the table under the silent gaze of the musketeers. She stepped towards them hesitantly, then catching sight of Athos, she stopped, letting out a shuddering sob before collapsing on the floor in tears.

"Oh god," she sobbed, "Maurice! Look at him," she cried, shaking.

Aramis swept to her side. He put his arms around her and lifted her to her feet, cradling her against him. He led the poor woman to Athos bedside where she continued to sob quietly in the medic's arms. Maurice laid his hand on his wife's back. She turned from Aramis and clung to her husband as he tried to comfort her.

"Will he be okay?" Maurice asked softly.

"I hope so," replied Aramis honestly. "I managed to remove the blade fragment from his ribs. His body is weak though. He lost a lot of blood and I fear he over-strained himself following the removal. We aren't sure what the after effects or the complications caused by the serrated blade may be. Not only that, the emotional toll that this mission has taken…there's a lot stacked against him. His fever is slight so far. Time will tell if it progresses."

Sophie sobbed again.

"Hush now love, hush Sophie," whispered Maurice. "He'll pull through. He's a strong lad. Always was."

Swallowing thickly to gather herself, Sophie gestured weakly to the tray she had brought in. "I had the cook prepare some broth for him. You should try to make him eat something. There's also a stew for the rest of you and fresh bread," she said through her tears. "You won't be going hungry on my watch," she said determinedly.

"Come now love, we should go. He needs to rest," said Maurice as he led her towards the door.

D'Artagnan stepped forward and the old couple stopped to look at him.

"Thank you," he said. "Thank you for your care. We'll let you know if anything changes."

oOo

Night passed into day and back into night again. Porthos, Aramis and D'Artagnan watched helplessly as Athos' fever climbed. He tossed restlessly in his sleep alternating between overheating or shivering in a cold sweat.

Aramis continuously checked the wound in his chest, but it still did not appear to show any signs of infection for which he sent up a small prayer. Whenever Athos stilled, Aramis checked his pulse and coaxed Sophie's herbal tea for fevers or tablespoons of broth down his throat. He refused to rest and ate sparingly under the frustrated glare of Porthos and D'Artagnan.

"Aramis, you need to rest!" D'Artagnan said.

"I can't," he said with a heavy sigh. "My mind won't let me rest until he's safe."

"Aramis –" D'Artagnan began again.

"Let it go, whelp," rumbled Porthos as Aramis turned back to Athos, placing a cool damp cloth on his forehead.

"How can we just let it go?!" D'Artagnan hissed as Porthos pulled him away from the bed towards a couch by the fireplace across the room.

Porthos sighed. "We just – have to. You know how he gets. Aramis can't rest when one of us is hurt."

"Athos -"

"Athos is gonna be fine!"

"How do you know?!"

"Because!" said Porthos, pulling in a deep breath to try to calm himself, "Because...he's too stubborn to go out like this..."

D'Artagnan wiped an angry tear from his eye. "Aramis knows we care too, right? That we're able to look over our brother too for a few hours so he can rest. I thought trust was supposed to go both ways with brothers!"

Porthos frowned. "Listen, Aramis loves you and trusts you. He takes a lot on puttin' us back together every time. If Athos dies from this fever –" D'Artagnan hissed, " – if he dies, it'll kill Aramis too. It'll be worse if he's sleeping as is happens. Not after Savoy. He'd never forgive himself. I can't lose both of them, can you?" D'Artagnan shook his head slowly. "Then we gotta let Aramis do everythin' he can, and be there if he needs us."

"But he's working himself to exhaustion!" the Gascon cried frustratingly, tears sparkling on his cheeks. "Doesn't he see how this hurts us? How hard it is for us to watch him time after time push himself to collapse for our sake? He needs to rest! He was shot only a few days ago! I don't want to lose either of them, Porthos!" He was breathing deeply now from his emotional outburst, hot tears fell from his eyes but he was beyond the point of caring. His heart was burning for his brothers.

"D'Artagnan," came a soft voice from behind him.

The Gascon spun on his heel to find himself face-to-face with Aramis. He glared at the man, his fists clenched at his side. His anger flared and his body betrayed him as he shook with suppressed emotion. His lower lip trembled as his eyes fought more hot tears. Aramis stared at the young man overcome by worry, fear and grief. Without a word, Aramis quickly wrapped his arms around D'Artagnan, pulling him into a tight embrace, one hand tangled in his hair as it pressed the younger man into his shoulder.

At first D'Artagnan fought the embrace, his arms pushing futilely against Aramis' chest, but Aramis wouldn't let go. D'Artagnan's anger melted into fear and sorrow and he sobbed into the marksman's shoulder, gripping him tightly, his eyes clenched, fighting against his tears. Aramis held the Gascon, his head pressed against his brother as though trying to pull the anxiety from the younger man.

Porthos watched the embrace, his own silent tears falling as he witnessed this exchange of brotherly love. He knew the deep ache he felt in his chest was the love he felt for these men growing even more. He grinned at Aramis as he caught the his eye and winked. Aramis smiled and then closed his eyes as he continued to hold his shaking brother. Porthos slipped past them and settled himself by Athos' bed, assuming the nursing duties in Aramis' absence.

oOo

D'Artagnan calmed and released the marksman, wiping tears from his face, embarrassed. Aramis smiled warmly and throwing his arm around him, he led the younger man to the couch near the hearth.

They sat there in silence for a moment, D'Artagnan still unable to meet the marksman's eyes.

"Should I start or would you like to?" Aramis asked softly.

D'Artagnan shook his head – he was still too upset to speak. Aramis took his wrist, forcing the dark eyes to meet his own.

"D'Artagnan, I'm sorry if I hurt you," he began, "I know this mission has been difficult for you. Not only were you injured, but you had to witness two of us fall victim to that madman. I have seen the worry growing in your eyes."

Aramis took a deep breath and let it out. "Regarding what you said, about me not trusting you. That's ludicrous. I trust no one but the three of you. I trust you to tend to my injuries when I cannot, and I've spent the time training you so that you're able to tend to our brothers if for whatever reason I am unable to. Not only do I trust you with my life, D'Artagnan, I trust you with theirs. Athos and Porthos have been my only family for what feels like a lifetime now," he said fondly, glancing over to where his brothers were.

"I know," said D'Artagnan, "They're your family."

"No, D'Artagnan. You are my family. All of you. I would do anything in my power to protect you D'Artagnan," he said fervently, tightening his hold on the younger man. "I would not hesitate to give my life for yours."

D'Artagnan's eyes flared, his anger rising again. "Don't you see how that makes me feel? Aramis, do you see so little of what you are? Of what you're worth to us? Of how much we love and cherish you? You'd throw yourself on a blade or in front of a bullet for any of us – of that I have no doubt. But then, you work yourself sick tending to us. Do you know how hard it is to wish for one brother to heal and then fear for what that might cost your other brother in the process?"

Aramis smiled sadly and nodded his head. "I have to D'Artagnan. I need to be certain you're all safe. My body and my mind won't rest until Athos' fever breaks and he wakes to make some flippant remark," he said and D'Artagnan choked on a small chuckle. He stared at the carpet for a moment before he raised his eyes and stared into the dark depths of the marksman's gaze.

"Athos told me about your family," D'Artagnan said. He grasped the marksman's forearm as he saw the man physically flinch at the mention of his father. "I don't know all the details, but I know they were dead wrong. The fact that they could have known you and treated you like that…like you were lesser or not worthy of them or something to be ashamed of…that's unthinkable. You are the best of men Aramis. I am grateful every day to have met you and to have been welcomed by you. They were not worthy of you. Only jealousy or insanity could cause someone to treat you like that."

Aramis' brown eyes filled with tears and he looked away. D'Aratagnan squeezed his arm, forcing the man to maintain eye contact. "They made you feel worthless, but they were so wrong Aramis. Your love, your brotherhood, is worth everything, which is why it's so hard for us to watch you driving yourself haggard as you tend to our wounds. Aramis, as you would for us, any one of us would get between you and a bullet in a heartbeat."

Aramis' eyes were locked on D'Artagnan's.

"A bullet, no question," D'Artagnan said softly. "An angry mistress however…" he said with a tentative grin, and a laugh burst from Aramis' lips. He wrapped the younger man in a tight embrace again before letting go and glancing over his shoulder at where Porthos sat tending to Athos. He wrapped his arm around D'Artagnan and leaned back on the couch.

"Perhaps you're right...It is really quite peaceful here," he said as he sighed deeply with a smile and closed his eyes.

oOo

Porthos glanced over his shoulder to where he had left D'Artagnan and Aramis.

D'Artagnan's outbursts and the conversation that followed had died off and Porthos was surprised to see both men fast asleep on the couch. D'Artagnan was slumped against Aramis using his shoulder as a pillow; Aramis was leaning against the armrest, his right arm draped protectively around the younger man holding him to his side, his cheek resting on the top of the Gascon's head. Porthos grinned at this tableau of love, trust, peace and protection and hoped that it would last for a few more hours to offer the Gascon some comfort and the marksman some rest.

Wringing out a fresh cool cloth, Porthos placed it on Athos' forehead, which helped to calm his turbulent sleep. Athos sighed as the cloth made contact and he pressed into Porthos' hand. The second night was wearing on and Athos was no better. His rest was broken up by spurts of restlessness. Only twice had he roused enough for Aramis to force some sustenance and tea into him. Porthos had both ready within arm's reach should he be blessed with a third wakeful (if not lucid) moment.

He was thankful for the calm moments Athos had – thankful and terrified all at once. Thankful because it meant that the man was at peace, but when that peace took him, it looked so absolute with his still pale complexion, that it seemed to Porthos that only the dead or dying could have that stillness in them.

Shaking his head to rid it of the frightening thought, Porthos took his brother's hand in his. He flinched at the heat that was present even in the man's graceful hands and long fingers.

He stared at the hand for a moment – a hand that had things gone differently, could now have been wielding a paintbrush as brilliantly as it wielded a sword. To think one man could have so much talent in his hands!

Porths looked at his own hands and grinned.

His were not hands for delicacy and fine art. Rough and scarred with the build up of bloodied and bruised knuckles from countless battles through the years, Porthos' hands were those of a fighter; simultaneously though, Porthos' touch could also be the most gentle, protective or grounding thing in the world, depending on what was needed from his brothers. It was with these hands that he held the swordsman's, gently stroking its top with his thumb.

"You know 'Thos, it's just you and me now. No need to go on pretendin' to be feverish anymore," he whispered sadly. "I know you can hear me, brother. Know you're fightin'. You've gotta pull through this 'Thos. I'm not worried, but you know how 'Mis clucks, and D'Artagnan…" Porthos trailed off.

He sighed heavily then went on. "D'Artagnan's uneasy. He loves you, but his worry is getting to him. He's young Athos, and I don't think he's fully over his dad passing...not yet...he looks up to you Athos. He needs you here. He's worried, thinkin' that 'Mis may get hurt again too now with the way he carries on when we're hurt. He…He's scared that he might lose two brothers to that madman, but I tried to set him right...I've tried to get Aramis to rest for a bit too – but you know what that's like. Managed to distract him a bit so he could talk some sense into D'Artagnan. Snuggled up like bugs in a rug right now. Looks like they both needed a break."

Porthos paused to glance at his brothers again.

"I told the whelp that you'd be fine...you don't wanna make a liar outta me 'Thos, so if you could wake up now that'd be great. He asked me how I knew – told him it was I knew you were too stubborn to die this way. You'd never leave Aramis and I to get into trouble without you there to bail us out…"

Porthos trailed off again as a new thought dawned on him. "What if I'm wrong though? What if you ain't there anymore to lead us into or help fight our way out of a tavern brawl? Athos, I…I don't know what I'd do without you…" he said frightened.

"When we first met, I was certain you'd reject me. The other noble-borns never so much as glanced my way. None of the musketeers did actually…No one, except Aramis, that is. Then when you joined and the three of us set out on our first mission…To a man who grew up alone and with nothing…from that first time we rode together…I just knew...This was something…this was special. This was family..." he said softly with a rueful grin. "You took a bullet for me, remember? I guess it's bad when all the stabbings and bullet wounds tend to blend into one, eh? Pretty sure only 'Mis remembers, and that's mostly 'cause he's the one stitching us back together, eh?"

Porthos glanced around the room and then leant forward to check the swordsman. He again wiped the sweat from the man's chest and brow and refreshed the damp cloth with cool water before returning it to Athos' forehead.

"You know," Porthos rumbled lowly, his deep tenor sounding like distant thunder, "When I think about how we came to be together, how we formed our family, it makes me laugh a bit. We was all alone, weren't we? Me from the Court, D'Artagnan havin' lost his father when he found us, you escaping the life you hated among other things…even 'Mis, popular, lovable ass that he is, he was always a bit of an outsider, if only by being so lovin' and acceptin' of everyone, even the likes of you and I! But then...after Savoy…you were with me. You know what it took…what it cost him. We promised him that he'd never be alone again," he said pausing as he reflected on that dark, desperate time.

"You've gotta wake up Athos. You've got to. Just imagine the look on 'Mis' face if you get better while I'm looking out for you and he's snoozing…actually, better not or he'll never rest again," he said, his grin fading as quickly as it had come.

The desperation in his voice startled him as he continued. "You three are all I've got, Athos. I won't ever give up on you, so you keep fightin'. Who else is gonna help me rein in Aramis or keep D'Artagnan on track? He's so young Athos. He needs you. How am I supposed to keep the team together without you? How am _I_ supposed to keep it together without you..."

Porthos was surprised to see the large tears land on his hand, and it took him a second to realize that they were falling from his own eyes.

With another quick glance behind him to where his brothers still slept on the couch, Porthos dropped his head and raised his hands still clutching Athos' hand to his lips and let the tears fall.

oOo


	15. Chapter 15

_**A/N: Thanks for all the lovely comments and PMs i got for that last chapter! There were a lot of feelings that they had to let out ;-) Thanks again for reading. One way or another we're nearing the end... Cheers!**_

* * *

Going Back

Chapter 15

Morning of the next day shone brightly through the window. The sunlight streaming in eventually woke the marksman. He rubbed his eyes, a little disoriented as the recognition of the room returned. He looked down to where the Gascon still lay pressed against him and smiled. He rose carefully to not disturb his brother and lay his head on the couch cushions. He stretched and glanced around the room. His heart skipped as he saw Athos' bed at the other end of the room, Porthos diligently trying to cool the man.

He stepped up behind his brother and placed a hand on his shoulder. Porthos looked up at the touch and Aramis could see tear tracks still visible on Porthos' face.

"Porthos…" he said lowly, his adoration and fear for his brothers obvious to anyone.

"Nothing's changed," he said. "Just been blubbering to myself," he said gruffly.

"Porthos," Aramis repeated and squeezed the man's shoulder.

Porthos smiled shyly and looked down. "Just had some things to say," he said. Aramis smiled at him, but said nothing more. Porthos' heart was bigger than he was, and there was no shielding his emotions – but more than that, he was their rock. Their strength. Aramis couldn't blame him for feeling vulnerable and breaking down to voice his fears to their silent brother.

"Have I missed breakfast?" Aramis asked softly, a slight smile playing at his lips.

"You've almost missed lunch," Porthos replied as Aramis' mouth fell open.

"What time is it? How long have I been asleep?" he asked, trying to lower the volume of his outrage.

"Nearly twelve hours," Porthos replied, "And don't you say nothin'. You clearly needed it. The pup too. You both needed to rest, and you needed each other to do so. Couldn't wake ya. You were so cute together," he said grinning.

Aramis scowled at him. "Well, now it's your turn to rest – "

"Not until you eat somethin'" he retorted.

Aramis grabbed a roll off the table and shoved it in his mouth glaring at Porthos who grinned victoriously. "Honestly, you all call me mother hen…"

Grinning even more broadly, Porthos rose as Aramis swallowed his mouthful of roll.

Aramis stepped towards the chair to resume his position, but stopped in front of his dearest friend. Without another word, he wrapped his arms around Porthos, pulling the big man into a fierce hug. He felt Porthos' arms tighten in the embrace as they exchanged the same feelings of love and support that had bonded them so closely all those years before.

"Rest now," Aramis said as they pulled away, both a little misty eyed.

Porthos grinned and wiped away a remaining tear, "Wake me when the food comes," he said as he went to settle himself in a chair by the fire.

A few hours later, Sophie bustled in with a tray of fresh food for lunch – the smell of roast chicken wafted tantalizingly into the room with her.

She neared the bed slowly, her fingers combing through Athos' damp hair. Aramis sniffed the air.

"If that smell doesn't wake him, I'm not sure what will," he said smiling at her.

Sophie returned the sad smile. "It was his favourite," she said as she looked at the man she had known since he was a child underfoot. His shirt was open and Aramis was preparing to redress the wound. Sophie moaned slightly seeing the stitching in his chest. It was still clear of infection but the fever hadn't abated.

Aramis half wished now that it had just been an infection – that was something he could treat. The mystery of a fevered body was unpredictable. One could simply be weakened slightly for a day as he was, or one could drift into an unknown unconscious state for any amount of time just as easily, as Athos had. Just as easily still, the fever could continue to grow or last too long and then the sufferer could be lost completely.

Aramis covered his dark thoughts as he covered the wound. Sophie took a shuddering breath. "Do you think he'll ever forgive our ignorance? Felix was family…" she said, looking into the kind brown eyes of the marksman. "We had no idea…" A tear fell down her wrinkled face. Aramis reached forward and brushed it away.

"Athos knows how much you and Maurice have cared for him," Aramis said. "That's why he loves this place. It's the only place I've seen him feel at home outside of the garrison," he said.

Sophie smiled at him. "Do you ever say the wrong thing?" she said; Aramis grinned back with a wink.

"Come," she said, "Eat something before the other two demolish it all," she said with a small wink of her own as she headed out the door. Aramis gave a small soft chuckle as he uncovered the banquet she had brought them. The smell of the roast chicken continued towards the couch and chair, finally waking D'Artagnan. He practically floated to the food.

"Good morning," he said a little shyly.

Aramis beamed at him as he began making himself a plate. "More like 'Good afternoon'". D'Artagnan's shocked expression quickly gave way to a sheepish grin. "Don't worry," Aramis said, "I only awoke a few hours ago myself." If anything, the Gascon grinned wider at that comment, relieved to know that at least the marksman had rested.

"It wasn't entirely my fault," he grinned, causing Aramis to raise an eyebrow. "For someone so lean, you make an exceptional pillow."

Aramis snorted and smirked at the younger man, "That's one of my secrets," he said with a wink. "I better wake Porthos. He gets so irritable when he misses a meal," he remarked causing D'Artagnan to stifle a laugh too.

oOo

Another day passed without change.

And then another.

The musketeers were beside themselves with worry. Aramis, despite his best efforts to keep his promise to D'Artagnan, hardly rested for more than an hour at a time – his nerves hardly allowing him to pick at the food. As the fourth day drew to a close and the fifth evening of their vigil began, the musketeers' were nearing their breaking point.

"I don't understand," Aramis muttered frustratingly. "There is no infection, the wound is healing correctly, there is nothing that should be prolonging this fever. He needs to wake up. It's been too long. He's in dangerous territory now," he said as he anxiously ran his fingers through his hair. Athos' fever continued to persist and was gradually worsening instead of improving, despite their best efforts.

D'Artagnan placed a hand on Aramis' shoulder as Porthos re-entered the room carrying a fresh basin of cold water. He looked forlornly at the swordsman.

It happened in an instant. Athos went from tossing restlessly to seizing completely in a heartbeat, his body arching off the mattress wildly.

"Athos!" shouted Aramis as he leapt onto the bed bracing Athos' head so it didn't smash against the headboard. Porthos dropped the basin spilling water everywhere as he ran forward to brace the man's legs as D'Artagnan held his uninjured side and arm. Athos thrashed violently as his brothers used as much force as they dared to restrain him.

He stilled suddenly and Aramis rolled off the bed and onto the floor in an attempt to not crush the prone form of his brother. He sprung up immediately, his hand flying to Athos' throat desperately searching for a pulse as he prayed.

"What was that?! What's happenin'?" Porthos asked desperately. D'Artagnan was silent, staring wide-eyed at Aramis, begging for an answer.

"He's begun seizing," he said, the worry obvious though he tried to keep his tone calm. "I don't know what's wrong. The fever should have gone down, but he's still too hot and rising!" His hand combed anxiously through his thick dark curls again. It was hard to tell whether the exhaustion, frustration or fear for his brother's life was having the greater impact on Aramis as he continued to pull at his hair.

"He's bathed in sweat," said D'Artagnan. "We can't get these cool cloths on him fast enough," he said.

"No…we can't," said Aramis, wheels turning in his head.

"I know that look," said Porthos. "You're about to do something reckless."

"But calculated," Aramis said. "D'Artagnan, ask Sophie for the biggest bath they have. Porthos, get Maurice and John and anyone else to bring in cool water from the lake."

"What are you thinking?" Porthos asked.

"We're…we're going to give him a bath," Aramis said, shrugging his shoulders.

The other two exchanged glances, but looking at the marksman they nodded.

The tub was quickly gathered and they began filling it with cold water.

"Let's get him wrapped in a clean sheet," Aramis said as Porthos lay Athos on a fresh cotton sheet. They wrapped him as tight as possible to prevent him from thrashing. Aramis stripped off his doublet and boots until he was standing in his shirt and braies. Porthos' eyes grew wide as he watched the man shudder slightly as he climbed into the cold water in the tub.

"I need you two to pass him to me," Aramis instructed Porthos and D'Artagnan. "He won't be able to support himself in here. We've essentially swaddled him, but if he seizes again while in here there's still a chance he could further injure himself…and as D'Artagnan pointed out, I make an exceptional pillow." Again, the others looked sceptically at the marksman who sat in the cold water, his arms out expectantly.

"Please," he said, "I know it sounds crazy, but it's the only thing I can think off that will allow more of his body to cool at once without injuring him. It's the last option we have. I need you to trust me," Aramis pleaded.

"We do," said the other two in unison as they raised their brother and lowered him into the tub, his head rolling against Aramis' uninjured shoulder.

oOo


	16. Chapter 16

Going Back

Chapter 16

 _He felt oddly. Yes, that was the word for it._

 _Athos was neither in pain, nor exactly uncomfortable as the garbled voices of his brothers bounced past him._

 _"What's going on?" he commanded the muted shapes that refused to hold still._

 _A pair of quarrelsome brown eyes lingered in front of him for a moment. All at once, he knew those eyes, but then just as suddenly he didn't. They held the menace of Aramis in battle, but none of his warmth and mischief. They had D'Artagnan's anger, but not his hope. There was the promising violence and challenge of Porthos but without his laughter or love._

 _He knew these eyes, but at the same time he didn't and he grew afraid._

 _"What's going on? Where am I?" he commanded again._

 _"Olivier," sounded a voice at his ear and Athos went cold. The voice was so close, Athos felt that if he turned his head he would see the speaker's face - but for the life of him, he couldn't move._

 _"Thomas," he whispered breathlessly. "Thomas! Where are you! I can't see you!" he cried. Silence answered him._

 _"Thomas! Thomas please! Where are you?" Athos asked desperately. He fought to turn, to move his body, but he seemed to have been turned to lead._

 _"I'm here, brother. I am with you," the voice replied. Athos couldn't help the tears that began to fall from his eyes as the sound of his brother's voice rang in his ears._

 _"I'm sorry Thomas. I should have believed you. I should have been there to protect you and defend you," Athos blurted into the void. The muted shapes had receded and the world was growing dark. Again there was silence._

 _"Are you there?" Athos asked the silence again._

 _"Yes, I'm here brother," said the voice, stronger now. The image of Thomas began to form before him gradually. He stood half in darkness, his bright blue eyes shining like stars in the surrounding murkiness and Athos wept._

 _"I am always with you," the form of Thomas replied. "I am glad you are back. I have missed you," it whispered._

 _Athos said nothing but tried to control his breathing. He knew this wasn't real - it couldn't be real - but then maybe it was..._

 _"Am I dead?" Athos asked bluntly with neither hope nor fear._

 _Thomas hesitated. "You know I can't make that decision for you," Thomas said, "You're far too stubborn." A smile flickered across the face Athos thought he'd never see again and his heart nearly leapt from his chest._

 _He couldn't help it - he beamed at his brother. Athos' body began to feel lighter as the image of his brother grew stronger. He lifted his foot to take a step closer towards his brother and was startled when it was met without resistance as though the weight had fallen from the limb._

 _"Athos!" shouted a voice and Athos hesitated. The voice was muffled as though Athos were hearing it from under water, but he knew that voice. He knew the fear and the pain and the panic in that voice. He'd know it anywhere. He had to help him. He couldn't leave them..._

 _Thomas's image smirked at him. "They still need you," he said._

 _"But so do you!" Athos insisted as the shape smiled more broadly. It took a step closer to Athos._

 _"You can no longer defend me or protect me brother," he said as he continued his approach. Athos stood rooted to the spot._

 _"Thomas, can you ever forgive me?" Athos whispered. The young man smiled - he looked so much like D'Artagnan, but with dark unruly hair and the bright eyes of the rest of Athos' family. He nodded slowly and Athos exhaled._

 _"You can no longer protect me, Olivier, but they need you still. Don't lock me away any longer. Do not think of our time together with only sadness," the image said as he stopped in front of Athos. They were so close now that Athos could touch him, but he dared not lest the image of his beloved brother be swept away as quickly as his life had been._

 _"i don't want to leave you," Athos whispered miserably as that far-off voice continued to whisper words of comfort in his ear._

 _"I will always be with you brother. Be happy. I am at peace. Your other brothers will need you now," said the figure. It reached out its arms and made to wrap them around Athos'. Athos held his breath._

 _He felt the weight of the arms pressed against his and the flutter of the dark curls against his cheek._

 _"Be happy Olivier. I will be with you always if you can let the light in."_

 _Athos closed his eyes and pressed his head against what must have been Thomas. "There must be something I can do...I don't want to leave you...I love you, brother" Athos whispered hoarsely as his body absorbed every moment of this embrace._

 _The darkness was growing. He could still hear the vague water-logged words. He could almost feel the water around his legs._

 _"Take care of your brothers, Olivier, and they will care for you. Go to them. They love you as I did," the voice whispered as Athos felt the embrace lighten._

 _Athos looked into the face of his brother as he pulled away. "Promise me that you will care for them. Promise me that you will be happy. That you will laugh again. I hope to hear you laugh once more," said Thomas' voice as Athos stared into the fading face of his brother. Athos bit his lip to keep from weeping and nodded. His brother's blue eyes smiled back._

oOo

The effect of the cool water was almost instant – though Athos still trembled, it was slight compared to the violent thrashing of earlier. Steadily, the shaking regressed as Aramis held Athos in the tub. Athos' head lay back against Aramis shoulder, and his brow seemed to unfurrow slightly. Aramis dropped his cheek to his brother's and frowned. He was still too hot.

Aramis held Athos for an hour, Porthos and D'Artagnan watched intensely.

Athos' breathing was smoother, though still laboured by his broken rib. Aramis continued to run his hand through his brother's hair as the heat slowly receded from his body.

Finally, Aramis felt Athos stir. "Athos," he whispered, "It's time you woke up brother. We're all waiting for you."

Aramis pulled the hair back from his brother's brow where it lay against him. Slowly, Athos' eyelids began to quiver.

"Come now Athos," Aramis continued to whisper, "It's been too long since we've seen that glare. Who knows what trouble we could have gotten into. Open your eyes brother. That's it…"

Eyelashes fluttered and the three musketeers were finally rewarded as his eyelids lifted to reveal the blue gaze of their brother.

"'Mis," Athos whispered, causing an enormous grin to spring to the marksman's face. "Why are we in a bath?"

Porthos barked a laugh, wiping a tear from his eye as D'Artagnan looked as though his grin would split his face. Aramis grinned sheepishly.

"You had a fever. It was the only thing I could think of to cool you down," he said. Athos nodded as though this was the most common of answers.

"How do you feel?" D'Artagnan asked.

"Like stale porridge. Perhaps you could free me from this tub," he said weakly.

The others laughed and helped their brother to rise, unwrapping him from the wet sheet. Athos struggled to stand, but there were six hands ready to support him. They dressed him in warm dry nightclothes and brought him back to the bed. Aramis had wrapped a blanket around himself as he redressed and rebound Athos' wounds.

"How long has it been?" Athos asked.

"Nearly five days," muttered Porthos.

"Five days!" he exclaimed, his eyes swinging to each of his brother's faces.

"Sh…I need you to remain calm. Do not overexert yourself. I'd like you to try to eat something before you rest again," Aramis said softly.

"You as well," said the swordsman as he stared gravely into the marksman's eyes, taking in the dark circles and slightly taught features of the man.

"I will rest easier when I know you are alright," he challenged.

Athos frowned, but was too weak to argue. Porthos helped him to a seated position in the bed. He dutifully managed a few mouthfuls of the broth before pushing it away. At Aramis' insistence, Athos also managed to swallow half a mug of the tea to help combat the remains of his fever before he was allowed to rest.

Aramis, Porthos and D'Artagnan watched their sleeping brother for a few moments until the peace was punctuated by a violent sneeze from Aramis.

D'Artagnan was the first to react, his glare falling onto the shivering marksman.

"You're freezing! And still in your wet clothes!" he scolded loudly, startling Athos from his sleep.

The medic looked sheepish. "I…just forgot…"

"No excuses 'Mis. If you get a cold now…" Porthos said.

"Well, that was always the risk…" Aramis muttered as he changed into dry clothes, causing his brothers to glare at him as a sudden understanding dawned on their faces. He shivered slightly which didn't improve matters.

"Aramis," groaned D'Artagnan, "Didn't we just talk about this?" he said draping the man in a blanket.

"Honestly, there was no other way!" he said as he was shuffled towards the bed, "And I didn't intend to stay in those wet clothes – I was a little distracted and relieved." Porthos and D'Artagnan continued to herd him backwards. Athos pulled back the covers and Porthos pushed him down onto the bed.

"Now, you're both going to rest and recover. It's late. The whelp and I can look after you till morning. But you gotta sleep or I **_will_** tie you down," threatened Porthos. D'Artagnan stood next to him, arms crossed, that stubborn Gascon air daring them to argue.

oOo

Porthos and D'Artagnan traded their watches throughout the night. Athos rested calmly in the large bed. Aramis' shivers were calmed by Athos' uninjured arm draped protectively around him. Athos held him closer when it seemed like nightmares might overtake his brother. Aramis was still wrapped in that protective embrace as the morning sun rose.

Athos was the first to rise. D'Artagnan had fallen asleep in the chair by the bed. Porthos' snores could be heard from the couch. Aramis curled closer to Athos like a giant cat.

Athos gazed at his slumbering family and smiled softly. Gently he shook Aramis awake.

"How are you feeling?" he asked as the brown eyes opened next to him.

"Well," Aramis said with a smile, "but I believe I should be the one asking you that."

Athos shook his head gently. "Aramis, your lack of self-preservation is enough to boil my blood. Why did you risk yourself for me – again?"

Aramis frowned, sitting up. "I had to get you cool, Athos."

"I understand that, but why did it have to be you?" he replied.

Aramis' brown eyes grew hurt. "I couldn't risk any other option. I knew that sickness was a possibility of being submerged in that cold water for so long. I couldn't risk either of them getting ill over my harebrained idea."

"But you could risk yourself?" Athos asked and Aramis scowled.

"You know the answer to that," he said angrily.

Athos sighed, taking the marksman's hand to calm his anger. "I am sorry. Please don't misinterpret me. This entire debacle has made me re-evaluate the things I value in my life, and you, my reckless caring brother, are one of the things I treasure most. The other two are still sleeping," he said nodding towards the Gascon and the brawler. "I need you to promise me that you will try to treasure your life as much as we do. Let us help you. Sometimes the risk is not worth the reward."

Aramis shook his head. "When it comes to your life, Athos, it is worth any risk," he said, squeezing his hand and staring fiercely into those blue eyes. "I feel the same as you do, so don't pretend as though you wouldn't risk your life for the rest of us. We've all witnessed you do it countless times before," he said admonishingly. Athos frowned, so Aramis continued.

"I cannot promise you that I will not risk my life if it means saving yours," he said, "but I can promise to try to share the nursing duties more with you and my brothers once the danger is clear."

Athos sighed. "I guess that's as much as I'll get out of you," he said fighting a smirk.

Aramis beamed at him, "Well you've already used me as a pillow," he said.

"I believe we're even on that count," Athos deadpanned and Aramis chuckled. Athos tried hard to fight the smile that Aramis somehow managed to always pull from him, but it was useless as Aramis' laughter grew. Athos felt his lips turn upwards as laughter softly fell from his lips, surprising both men – if true smiles from Athos were rare, his true laughter was a god-send. Athos and Aramis laughed harder at the shocked laughter, Aramis clapping Athos on his non-injured side. D'Artagnan and Porthos woke to the commotion and grinned down at their brothers laughing like children from their sick bed.

oOo

* * *

 _ **A/N: Athos got a little lost for a bit there, but with the love of his brothers - all his brothers - maybe the load he carries is a little lighter...**_

 _ **I also want to thank you for accepting my super loose understanding of medicine and sickness. Sometimes the body just needs a break...and maybe a five day fever and some hallucinations are just that!**_

 _ **As always thank you so much for taking the time to read this and to review it. It means the world! Hoping to wrap this up before Christmas...there's just a little left! Cheers!**_


	17. Chapter 17

Going Back

Chapter 17

Athos dozed off and on for the next two days to recover his strength. His brothers took it in turns to watch over him while the others ventured outdoors for some fresh air. Aramis and D'Artagnan returned from a ride through the woods carrying the freshness of the outdoors into the room with them, rousing Athos far more than anything else had so far. He knew he was still weakened, but his patience with being bedridden was also growing short.

Nonetheless he grinned at his brothers as Aramis teased D'Artagnan, the apparent loser in their race back. They were all glad that Aramis had not succumbed to any illness and the bullet wound in his shoulder was all but forgotten.

There was a soft knock on the door and all four men turned.

"Come in," said Athos.

D'Artagnan opened the door, and with a small smile at Sophie, he took the heavy tray from her hands as she entered with Maurice.

The pair nervously moved forward.

"My lord," muttered Maurice as he looked at the recovering man.

"Master Olivier," Sophie whispered, her lower lip trembling as they approached the bed where Athos sat. Aramis was seated at the foot of the bed and Porthos inhabited the chair next to it. Their positions were open and welcoming, yet maintained a protective presence over their brother, proving just how close they had come to losing him in his fevered state.

"I believe there are some things that we need to discuss," Athos said to the older couple. "Perhaps we could move to somewhere a little more comfortable in order to speak," he said looking to Aramis. It was a statement more than a question, but the marksman consented regardless. He helped Athos from the bed who, though much recovered, still breathed heavily through the pain in his rib.

Athos took a seat in the armchair by the fire and gestured for Maurice and Sophie to join him on the couch. Aramis, Porthos and D'Artagnan took seats at the table by the food, Porthos and D'Artagnan digging into the excellent fare provided. Aramis smothered a small laugh as he watched his brothers eat with gusto. With a pointed look from Porthos, he sighed with a grin and began to make a plate for himself and one for Athos – in case his brothers devoured everything in their relish.

Athos and the caretakers sat silently for a few moments.

"I am unsure as to how to begin," said Athos awkwardly.

"Please, my lord, let us begin by expressing how absolutely devastated we are by all that's come to pass," said Maurice fervently.

"You must believe that we had no idea. Felix is…was family. And we can all be blinded by those we love," said Sophie desperately.

Athos nodded gravely, but allowed the couple to continue.

"We knew that Joseph was changed when he came back to us, but then he was gone for so many years...when he returned a few months ago, we were overjoyed," Maurice said. "He was my younger brother. We took him in and put him to work. I made excuses for his disinterest and for him not really pulling his weight. I had seen that there was a bit of an edge to him, but I figured that was just a result of being among soldiers for so long on the brink of battle. Believe me, my lord, if I had any inclination that he would turn violent or had such ludicrous or dangerous notions, I would have written to you immediately."

Athos nodded again gravely. "In many ways, it was a good thing that news of those attacks on the Noble Road reached Paris, otherwise who knows what the end result of his actions may have been," he said.

Sophie gasped and her tears began to fall once more. Aramis rose from the table and brought Athos his plate with a slightly scolding look. He then walked towards Sophie and handed her a handkerchief, which she took with a small smile that he returned warmly. With a nod from Athos, Aramis retreated to the table.

Athos smiled at Sophie and Maurice. "Please don't misinterpret me. My thoughts were only for your well-being and the safety of the staff. I have no doubt of your loyalty to me or my family. Your honour remains well intact," he said, and they both sighed in relief.

"I can't tell you…you won't understand – not until maybe you've helped raise a child yourself – what it was like to see you so injured. And knowing that you were like that because of someone we loved…" said Sophie wringing the handkerchief between her hands. Athos offered her another small smile.

"Why…why did he do this?" Maurice asked hollowly.

Athos shook his head and looked over to the table where his brothers sat.

"It's hard to say," said Porthos rising and bringing Athos a glass of wine. "War can do funny things to a man. Aramis and I were both at La Rochelle at the same time Felix was there. We both saw things there that coulda turned any man, and he had served for a long time before that," he said grimly. Aramis and D'Artagnan joined the others by the fireplace.

"Based on what I read from Felix's journal, this anger has been building for many years. He's been gone for more than 20 years now, correct?" Aramis asked. Maurice nodded. "I believe that his years of service took quite a toll on Felix. In his desperation to find a way out of the soldier's life, he concocted this idea that he was actually a child of the nobility. I believe that the hope of being above the mud and grime of the trenches was all that he may have had at times. It was what he turned to in his darkest hours."

"I still don't understand. How could he have believed something so ludicrous?" Maurice asked running a hand through his thinning hair.

Aramis sighed. "I believe that was a result of some inconvenient material coincidences; his namesake, for example, and the fact that he had blue eyes and dark hair. If you are desperate for answers, it's easy to find them. However, through the pages we recovered from the family bible, Renard had taken Guillaume, Athos' father, on tour of the provinces as part of his education during the year that would have coincided with Felix's birth, proving that he couldn't have been the father. As you may know, that book recorded every birth, death, marriage and major expense for the family; it can't be questioned." Maurice nodded his agreement.

"I'm so sorry, my lord, for all the strain this has cost you. I feel there must be some way for us to repay you – to make amends…" Maurice said.

"There is nothing more I could ask for than what you have already provided. My brothers have told me about your concern during my illness," Athos said. "Your brother's actions are not your own and you should not be punished or feel responsible for them. The loss of a brother is one of the hardest burdens that a man may bear. I would wish no more anguish upon you than that," he said.

"Yes, my lord," said Maurice, "Though to be honest, I'm not sure that I'll be able to forgive him," he said bitterly.

"In time you will look back on memories of the boy and the man that Felix was before his mind and heart became twisted. I've been told that there is always a silver lining if one chooses to let the light through," Athos said.

Maurice and Sophie nodded slowly, and stood to leave. Sophie approached the chair where Athos sat, her eyes red, one hand still clutching the handkerchief.

With the other she brushed the hair back from Athos' face and kissed his brow. "I'm so glad you're better," she whispered. "Now eat something. I'll have the chef prepare a roast chicken for your dinner," she said with a soft smile as she followed her husband from the room.

The musketeers were silent for a moment when the pair left.

"Are you alright?" D'Artagnan asked. "Sophie's right, you should eat something," he said. The others raised an eyebrow at him and he just shrugged. "My mother used to say that all troubles are easier to deal with on a full stomach," he said with a grin.

"A wise woman," Aramis said, patting the Gascon on the back.

Porthos grinned, "Sounds like a woman after my own heart," he said and refilled their wine glasses.

Athos smirked as he picked up the plate that Aramis prepared for him. "Perhaps that's another reason why you've been challenging Aramis as our official mother hen, Porthos," he said with a quirk to his mouth as his brothers all laughed around him, Porthos' big boom filling the room.

oOo

* * *

 _ **A/N: Just one more chapter to go. I felt that Athos just needed a moment to actually acknowledge Sophie and Maurice for their care.**_

 _ **Thank you all so much for continuing with this story. I'll for sure have this finished this week before the Christmas holidays! Cheers!**_


	18. Chapter 18

Going Back

Chapter 18

Athos stood alone in the trophy room. He held the brass key in his hand. No one had yet opened the vault's door – his brothers' felt it was not their place to intrude.

The key was heavy; the weight of it made it feel as though he were literally weighing his options. Athos wondered what he might find in this vault – what had his grandfather treasured enough to secure in his private safe? Or what did he fear?

There was a knock on the door. Athos looked up to see Aramis standing in the doorway.

"Have you decided if you will open it?" Aramis asked with a soft smile. "We were wondering if you might want some company or need our support. We're here in any instance – or could not be if you prefer to do this alone," he said.

Athos shook his head smirking slightly. Again, he should have known. His brothers would obviously be aware of the apprehension he might have to opening this thing. He would never truly be able to communicate his appreciation of their support for him. Wordlessly, he cocked his head and gestured for his brothers to enter.

"Was this your idea?" Athos asked Aramis as the three men filtered in and shut the door behind them.

"Partly; we all wanted to be here for you. Somehow I was the chosen mouthpiece to ask though," he said with a shrug.

"Mouthpiece or sacrifice?" Porthos asked.

"Definitely the sacrifice," said D'Artagnan with a grin.

"I thought we already spoke about you trying to improve your self-preservation?" said Athos smirking.

"Yes, yes, you're all very comical. I'll remember this the next time I'm stitching one of you up, shall I?" he said, his eyes flashing in that dangerous combination that Aramis had mastered – part mischief, part daring, part humour.

"Well, let's end this, shall we?" said Athos

Athos stepped back in front of the heavy door. Quietly, he inhaled deeply, then plunged the key into the lock and turned it.

The lock clicked open with an ominous thud as the bolts to the vault withdrew. He reached forward with a steady hand and grasped the handle and pulled and gasped, his hand flying to his chest as pain flared through his body.

His brothers were at his side in a moment, Aramis helping to steady his breathing.

"I'm alright…the door gave a little resistance that I wasn't expecting…my recent altercation making itself known," he said gasping.

"Allow me," said Porthos, as he stepped forward. He too grasped the handled and even with his great strength, the door resisted. Grunting under the strain, Porthos slowly was able to inch the door forward. Once there was some space available, D'Artagnan wedged his own shoulder into the void and pushed as Porthos pulled, until the door finally cooperated and swung open suddenly, causing both men to stumble slightly, Porthos managing to catch D'Artagnan before he fell.

The door opened the large vault, the size of a small closet. There was a large chest that sat in its midst. Books and items wrapped in protective material lined shelves at the back. Slowly Athos stepped forward, grabbed a bundle and stepped out.

"I'll pull this out for you," said Porthos, bending to pull the chest from the floor. He settled it on the table nearby. Aramis and D'Artagnan took the remaining small bundles from the shelves and with a nod from Athos, they began to sort through them. Porthos got to work on opening the trunk.

"Wow Athos, are these still all yours?" D'Artagnan gushed as he sorted through the studies and sketches from the portfolio he was sifting through. Athos grinned and nodded.

"Athos, they are really quite good. You should consider taking this up again," he replied.

"Yes," nodded Aramis, "Especially since you're not as committed to your former pastime of getting exceptionally drunk," he said with a grin to which Athos cocked an eyebrow in challenge and grinned back.

"True," he said, "But I still need to be available to aid your escape from balcony or window ledges and passing angry husbands." They all chuckled at the familiar banter and turned back to the treasures they examined.

"This appears to be Thomas' sheet music," Aramis said softly, passing a leather-bound book to Athos. Athos eyes widened as he held the book like gold. "What have you found?"

"The notice of my birth," he grinned sheepishly, passing the paper to Aramis.

"Renard d'Athos, Comte de la Fere, is proud to announce the birth of Olivier. First-born son to his son, Guillaume d'Athos and Antoinette, nee du Bretons. Le 4 janvier. Dieu soit loué," Aramis read. "It looks like all of this stuff belonged to you or your brother. They were his prized possessions," he said with a smile. Athos grinned back.

"Got it!" Porthos shouted excitedly as the trunk clicked open.

"Finally," said D'Artagnan with a grin and an exaggerated eye-roll. Porthos grinned back triumphantly and deftly mussed the Gascon's hair, which had him instantly regretting his cheek. The musketeers peered into the depths of the trunk.

"Is that…?" Porthos asked with another huge grin. Athos nodded.

"I had always wanted to be a soldier," he said as D'Artagnan pulled a child's set of armour from the chest.

"It almost fits you," teased Aramis.

"He may still grow into it," replied Porthos as the two men grinned mischievously at their younger brother who harrumphed and pouted. Athos rolled his eyes, but couldn't fight the wide grin on his lips at his unfortunate brother's expense.

"What else is in there?" D'Artagnan asked.

Two boxes remained in the bottom of the trunk. Athos gingerly lifted the first one.

An ornate "T" was written on its surface. Carefully, Athos opened the box. A highly polished wooden case lay within. Inside that was the most beautiful violin any of them had ever seen at Louis' court. The instrument nearly emitted light from its brilliantly polished wood, untarnished by time. A folded note lay on top of it.

Athos picked up the note, "Apparently this was a gift for when Thomas came of age. Unfortunately, my Grandfather died before either of us reached that milestone. He never was able to give it to him…" he said and passed the note to his brothers. "Thomas, Always follow your heart to whatever end. Happy Birthday"

The musketeers were silent as Athos withdrew the final package with the ornate "O" on its lid.

"Athos," Aramis whispered, "Would you like to be alone?"

The swordsman stared at the box; his eyes glistened with a torrent of emotion.

"Athos?" Aramis asked again, gently reaching out a hand to Athos' elbow.

He shook the threatening tears away as he shook his head. "No," he said. "I'd like to have all my brothers here with me," he said as his hand gently brushed the strings of the violin. His brothers said nothing, but drew slightly closer.

Tentatively Athos lifted the white box's lid. A long black case was inside, a white note folded on its top. Athos read the note and his eyes filled with tears. He laid the note on the table for his brothers to read.

"Olivier, my joy, happy birthday. I am proud of the man you are, and of the one I know you will continue to be. Always remember that you are, and deserve to be, loved."

"Truer words were never spoken," said Porthos to which Athos gave a small laugh and wiped at his eyes.

"My grandfather was always a man of few words, but they were always the most poignant ones," he said. Aramis placed a hand gently on his shoulder and D'Artagnan gave his arm a quick squeeze.

Athos placed his hands at either end of the case and lifted the lid. A velvet cloth covered something inside. Athos pulled it back and the musketeers all drew in a breath. Inside the case was a beautifully crafted rapier. The blade and the handle were decorated in the same way that his grandfather's dagger was – there was no doubt that this was part of the set. The family motto encircled the grip.

Another small note had fluttered to the ground when the cloth had been withdrawn. Aramis bent and handed it to Athos. "May this only be used to defend what is right, what is just and those you love, and to protect you when I cannot."

oOo

The musketeers stayed on at the lodge for an extra day at Aramis' insistence – a day Athos relished as he and his brothers spent much of it riding through the rich woods that encircled the property and helping John and Maurice with whatever minor duties they had to maintain the residence. Their final night was spent dining well and drinking late where they told tall tales and Athos rested comfortably and even laughed at some of Aramis or Porthos' more ludicrous tales – though it was often hard to tell how much of their stories were exaggeration, emphasis or evidence.

They bid farewell to Maurice, Sophie and the rest of the staff the next morning. Sophie enveloped both Porthos and D'Artagnan in a tight embrace before turning to Aramis and a planting a kiss on the surprised marksman with a mischievous wink. A startled Aramis beamed at her, bowed and blushed as his brothers roared their laughter.

Maurice took Athos' hand and shook it firmly.

"I can never thank you enough for all your kindness throughout the years. I'm sorry if we've been too much of a bother," he said shyly.

Rising to her tip toes, Sophie placed a soft kiss on his brow. "You are never a bother to us, Olivier...Athos," she said, and the musketeers beamed.

Athos smiled, and with a bow, he kissed the back of her hand. Swearing that they would try to visit, the musketeers mounted their horses and rode out towards Paris.

"Are we to take the Noble Road home?" D'Artagnan asked.

"I would like to stop into Pinon before we return to Paris," replied Athos causing D'Artagnan to smirk – a gesture quickly stifled by a stern look from Athos, none of which was missed by Aramis.

"Quite right," Aramis said. "I'm sure there's much that needs to be taken care of at the inn?" he asked innocently, giving D'Artagnan the subtlest of knowing winks, earning him a glare from Athos as well.

The quartet paused as the decrepit manor came into view once more.

"Did you want to stop in?" Porthos asked.

Athos shook his head. "There really is nothing for me here, but dark memories. I'd rather close the book on this place once and for all. This entire episode has had me reflecting on my past life, and I've decided to let go of what I can of the dark times and remember the few brief moments of sunshine that punctuated it."

"That's good of you. An' hard to do," said Porthos.

Athos nodded. "Again, and perhaps I may still be feverish, but I find myself once more adhering to the wise advice that I'm sure must be Aramis'," he said with a grin and spurred his horse forward so he couldn't hear the marksman's witty response, though the smirks on both faces knew that one would be coming.

oOo

They rode through the village of Pinon and stopped in at the inn for lunch. The musketeers updated Genn and her father about the events that transpired at the lodge. Athos's eyes widened as Aramis dramatically recounted Athos' duel with Felix, his cheeks reddening slightly at the appraising gaze he caught from Genn's pretty eyes.

As the others mounted their horses to leave, Genn stood with Athos on the porch.

Bowing, Athos kissed Genn's hand.

"I hope to see you again soon," he said to her.

"I'd like that very much," she said. "Preferably without needing a madman, or battle, or a fire to draw you here," she said as she pulled him close and kissed his lips.

He said nothing, but smiled at her, one of his genuine smiles, and she blushed. Releasing him, he mounted his horse and led his brothers back to Paris.

They had only ridden a full three minutes away from the town, three goofy grins and glances exchanging in rapid fire behind their brother before Aramis spurred his horse to ride alongside Athos.

"So…Genn seems well," he said coyly.

"Aramis…" Athos warned.

"I know, I know, self-preservation, sacrifice, yes yes," he said, "But things seem much brighter for our next return journey to this region than they did when we first set out," he said with a grin.

"Yes," agreed Athos with a grin of his own. "Much brighter," he said as he pushed his horse into a canter towards Paris, his brothers meeting his gait with a laugh.

The End

* * *

 _ **A/N: Thanks so much for reading and sticking with this one over the weeks! I hope you've enjoyed it! It's a happy little ending for Athos just in time for Christmas.**_

 _ **As always, thank you so much for your incredibly encouraging reviews, PMs and general feedback throughout this adventure. Cheers!**_


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